Beneath the Mask
by NicoleMarie0
Summary: Moriarty loves a good distraction and goes crazy when he can't find any. So when he fakes his suicide, he is absolutely miserable with boredom. What hapens when he sets his sights on a particular French Psychotherapist? Will she allieviate his boredom? Or is she just as ordinary as everyone else? -takesplace after Reichanbach Fall. Cannon with season 3. Moriarty/OC
1. Chapter One: The Unveiling

**James: The Hunt**

I decided to spend my morning in the main street café. If I'm going to be bored I might as well do it while drinking tea. It's been almost three years since I faked my death in London. I have to admit, I impressed myself with that one. But now that I'm dead, I'm left with an odd problem: I have nothing to do. Sure, there are customers still flocking to me for their less than legal requests. Boring, boring, boring. It's all boring. The only thing I have to pass the time is the people. The stupid people, easily manipulated down to the last word. I thought France would be better, but who was I kidding? They're all the same. I miss the games.

I look out the window, searching in vain for something to catch my attention. Nothing- wait. I could swear I've never seen her around before. I can't have missed her. Could I? About 21, professional, works with people, honest, and, going by what I can tell from here, mildly oblivious. She doesn't seem that interesting. So why did she catch my attention so quickly? Only one way to find out. Besides, I was already eager to leave the café.

She's walking at a relaxed pace so it won't be hard to catch on to her, blending in with all the other idiots as usual -the most infuriating part of being dead. The closer I get, the more curiosity I feel building up. For once, I think this one might be quite an interesting toy.

She still hasn't noticed me. I've been following her for a full ten minutes. I've eavesdropped on her casual conversations with passing strangers. I've stood next to her in line for coffee. Not once has she noticed me. Why do I find myself interested in this girl? Whatever the reason may be, I'm compelled to trail her.

I see her look at a paper. Wait- an invitation. Oh, I remember, there's a showing at the museum. There's a new painting being unveiled - for which I provided the forgery. Boring little thing. But it has been a long time since I've gone to a party. I'll have to dust off my Westwood.

* * *

 **CAMERON:** **The** **M** **useum**

The art museum is a crowded place. Lot's of people. The ads for this painting of a bridge were seen everywhere outside for the unveiling. The orchestral music has set the tone for this grand place. And seeing the way everyone present is dressed, I am not sorry for wearing my slightly uncomfortable formal gown. It's a simple favourite of mine, a floor length black satin dress which I've adorned with my only single strand of pearls and delicate earrings. I made sure to put my hair up nicely to show my earrings.

I wish there weren't so many people. It's hard to get a proper view of the painting with them in the way. So, to bide my time, I make my way to the snack and drink bar.

"Not interested in the exhibit?" a man's voice besides me asks.

"It's not worth being crowded for," I answer. "I mean, if everyone jumped off that bridge in the painting, would you?"

"I'd have been the one who told them to jump."

I look at him almost seriously because there is no way he is serious about that. "Are your friends lemmings?"

That earns a slight laugh from him. "No. I don't have friends"

"Too smart for them?" I ask, leaning a little against the table to nibble more comfortably on a carrot.

The man looks at me with a little smirk. "Friends are boring," he says.

I don't look at him. I can already see certain signs forming in this man to make a picture of who he is. "Especially when all they do is talk about the weather." At least we can have a little common ground. "They might as well speak of nothing at all." I wait impatiently for the crowd to dissipate.

"So you're too smart for friends too?" he asks.

I can't help but smirk. I never said I was. "Almost," I say, glancing at him. "I have my exception."

"Really?" he asks, drawing out the word in an unusual way.

"Yeah, well," unfortunately, I'm antsy and need to get out of this place. "It was a nice chat." I give him a single nod and leave to get some outside air.

* * *

 **James: I need a drink**

Hm. Interesting how casual she was. But she is mildly curious, I can tell. I decide to wait until she returns, and I know she will.

In the meantime, I take another sip of my drink. It would take about five more of these to make this event tolerable. I watch each member of the crowd one by one. Each of them living dull, superficial lives. Some of them are even looking for _souvenirs._ I hate souvenirs.

Soon enough, Cameron returns and stands by the painting. I can't see her opinion from here, so I walk over to where she is standing. She sees value in it, that much I can tell. Art never was my thing. Why would you waste time looking at an imitation of the real thing?

"It's a fake, you know," I say when I reach her.

"Doesn't change the value of the image conveyed." She said it. I told you so. "Just how much people will pay."

I raise an eyebrow. "Unusual viewpoint." Which is true. Most people would be focused on the fact that it is fake. But I knew she wouldn't see it that way. And it just makes her all the more interesting.

"Not everyone is as predictable as psychologists want us to believe."

Right. That's why I just mapped you out to the letter. But I nod and look interested just the same.

"Most are," I say casually.

She grins. "Thankfully. Or is it tragically? I can never tell."

I can tell this is supposed to be a joke. So I manage a smirk amidst the desire to leave behind this entire setting. Why am I putting up with this just to see her? I hate being here. Oh right, I should reply.

"Most definitely tragic. Trust me." To which, she chuckles. "My name's Jim by the way."

"Cameron," she answers with a smile. One that makes it obvious to me that I've caught her interest. Good. If she found me boring I would jump out the window in humiliation.

"A pleasure." I think for a moment. "You know, you could be predictable and give me your number. Or you could be unpredictable and ask me for mine." I just look her steadily in the eye. I'm actually curious this time. But considering we've only just discussed predictability, she better pick a third option.

"I don't really have a choice now do I?," she says with a smirk.

Then she writes a note and hands it to me. It's her email address. Well done, Cameron. Well done. I take one more glance at the painting before bidding her goodnight.

"Until next time," I say genuinely before leaving her and the miserable party behind.

* * *

 **CAMERON: Back home**

Jim is hard to read. He seems...I don't exactly know what it is about him. He seems to be smart, which may be why he chooses to not have friends. He's... Unique. And I like his humor. I glance at the painting one more time. It might take a bit of getting to know him to be able to actually read him; I think he may be too guarded.

As I walk home, give Raven a call.

"Yeah?" she picks up.

"Got room for a potential case?" I ask.

"Whatcha got?"

"The show casing. The painting is not original."

"...Really?" she says with a small amount of surprise.

"Well I'm sure you can verify it, but that's my understanding."

"Sure, I'll have a look. I take it the exhibit didn't go as planned then?"

"Actually, only one other person seemed to notice." Which is true. Jim noticed. I normally would have looked at a painting for maybe a minute tops. But I was sure something was off, so I studied it. And I'm pretty sure it's the canvas that is off.

"Alright," Ray says. "Sounds good. I'll keep you posted."

"Thanks. I'm on my way back. Do u need me to pick anything up?" She is my room-mate, after all.

"Nah, that's okay," she says. "No wait, actually, could you pick up some dinner plates?"

I blink. I cautiously ask, "What happened to the old ones?"

"Um, don't ask. Thanks, bye," she said in a rushed way before promptly hanging up.

I just shake my head at her in disbelief. I never know what will happen next with Ray.

With my hands occupied with the new boxes of dinner plates, I buzz Ray with my elbow. After about a minute, she finally opens the door. "Thanks," I say, heaving the plates onto the counter. "How was your day?"

"Alright,"she says, going back to her computer. "Money for the plates is on the table." She starts typing.

I wasn't expecting her to pay me back, but okay. I pocket the money and wash the brand new dishes. I've learned it isn't always best to ask Raven questions.

"What exactly made you think it was a fake?" Raven asks.

"I think someone copied it onto the wrong canvas," I say, rinsing a dish. "That, and someone had briefly mentioned it was a fake."

"Someone did, who?" She asks, clearly thinking this was a lead.

I remember how he, Jim, seemed to like my opinion of the painting, despite it's being fake. "I think he said his name was Jim." As Raven returns her attention to the computer again, probably for more research, I get lost in my thoughts and dish washing.

Thoughts like why is Jim guarded? What exactly makes him so unique? And how Jim wanted my contact information, that he said until next time, as though insinuating he will indeed contact me. He has a very pleasant smile. And his eyes, how I love his eyes. They hold so much hidden meaning and reveal how calculated and undoubtedly intelligent he is. So he is clearly a deep thinker. ...I like all of that. A lot. Will he ever actually contact me again? How soon?

"So this Jim," Ray asks, thoroughly interrupting my thoughts. "Is he some kind of expert?"

"I don't really know," I answer truthfully.

* * *

 **JAMES: Bored to Tears**

When I finally make it to my apartment, I shut the door and throw my jacket on the floor. Another dull evening. I haven't stopped searching for something -anything- to catch my interest. Though I have to admit, my last stunt was pretty impressive. Of course Sherlock is alive. I knew he wouldn't actually kill himself. We are too much alike. Except Sherlock is gullible. He really thinks I'm dead. Poor fool. But unfortunately he is the only one clever enough to pose a challenge.

I pull Cameron's note out of my pocket. She's a respectable girl, probably lives with a friend. Interested in psychology, most likely her profession. She's left handed, doesn't drink, bah blah blah. Even someone I thought could distract me from drowning in my own unhappiness will turn out to be boring. I take the note and toss it in the trash. There's no point. But. Okay, I reach into the bin and pull it out again. I can't seem to let this one go.

The phone rings.

"What is it?"

"You are coming right?" oh another dreaded client.

"Of course I'm coming, what do you take me for?"

"I was just checking. I want to make sure you're not planning on dying again."

"Very funny. Now SHUT UP AND DO YOUR JOB!" I love doing that, it's so much fun.

Unfortunately that's about as fun as it gets. It feels like I've been here forever. And other than Sherlock, I have nothing to look forward to. I just pass the time pulling off little jobs here and there. My mind is never satisfied. I just sigh and bang my head against the wall repeatedly.

* * *

AUTHORS' NOTES:

Thank you for reading this so far and for those that have already given us great reviews on our book. We have been working on this book for a very long time. It feels great to finally start putting up chapters! So tell us what you like, what you don't like, what you think will happen, what you think should happen, what you WANT to happen, what you don't want to happen. Our ears are wide open because we plan on writing what-ifs and one-offs and drabbles based off of this book, Behind the Mask! So let us know; we want to hear from our readers! Thank you again so much!


	2. Chapter Two: The Dating Game

Cameron: **The Email**

"I'll see you next week, Mr. Alden?" I ask.

"Yeah, I should be free," Mr. Alden says.

"Remember to make an appointment with my secretary on your way out."

"Yes, Dr. Allen." With that, he takes his leave. Mr. Alden is just one of my many clients here at my therapy office. He's a nice gentleman with chronic PTSD.

I take this chance to check my phone for texts and emails. Here's an email address I've never seen before.

 _Do people like you? Do they like your quirk?_

 _Lunch isn't to meet people. It's me, not you at work._

 _P. S. the name spells café._

 _-Jim_

I just kinda stare at it. He contacted me, yeah, but, why the bizarre email? I forward it to Raven.

 _What do you make of this?_

 _-Cameron Allen_

 _1-222-333-4444_

While I wait for her to reply, I look up my next client. Clair, 10 years old with Autism. She has minimal verbal skills and absolutely adores dolphins. Oh, yes, I remember her. I promised we could play in my sand box this time with the dolphins and fish toys. I have to make good on that.

My phone buzzes slightly. Its Raven.

 _Translation: "Do you like lunch? Meet me at the café. -Jim"_

I look between the original and the translation. How interesting. He coded the email to be every third word. Quite clever, really. I send Jim my response.

 _Twelve apples and thirty oranges?_  
 _-Cameron Allen_  
 _1-222-333-4444_

I add his email to my list of contacts. Then I get a text from an unknown number.

 _Done_

I can only assume that was also Jim. I save his number to my phone with a smile. I wonder what he's hiding. He is certainly unlike any man I've known. I glance at the clock again. Only one more client to go.

* * *

 **James: The First Date**

As I sit in the café once again, I wonder whether this is worth it. She solved my coded message but it was just a little too quick for her. I have a feeling she cheated. Why wouldn't she just try to solve it herself? And who is the one who solved it for her?

I see her coming. Three minutes early. Of course, it suits her.

"Well done", I say casually as she passes by.

She turns and gives me smile, looking pleased. "Clever what you did there with those words," she says before ordering herself a cup of tea. "Not that I had to tell you that. It's clear you already know."

"And you were clever enough to read them?" I could say I'm testing her honesty but I know she won't lie.

"More like clever enough to reply in like-manner." Boring. "And clever enough to recognize that you're hiding something," she says after taking a sip of her tea.

"Really, am I?" I say, sipping my own cup.

"Coding a message is generally a good sign of someone that is hiding something," she tells me in a nonchalant tone. She's curious but fortunately it seems she knows better than to pry. That's a good quality to have. It will keep her out of trouble.

"Did you learn that in one of your psychology courses?"

"No, it's common sense."

"Common sense is surprisingly uncommon."

This brings a grin to her face. "That's what my mother would say."

"So, why did you decide to come?" I ask while looking out the window.

"It's my lunch break and you were the only other person that seemed to notice the painting was on the wrong canvas."

"Was it?" I smirk slightly, which I'm sure won't go unnoticed by her trained psych mind. It's actually a bit of fun talking with her. It adds another dynamic to the conversation.

"The canvas fibers were too close and fine. Probably to make copying it easier. But whoever it was failed to notice the effect on the texture. Or else trusted no one would notice those minute details."

"Good," I draw out the word, impressed.

"Now then, fair is fair. Why did you ask me here?"

"Because you're interesting to me." Plain and simple.

"That's a lot coming from someone that believes friends are boring." She sounds pleased. But her face doesn't reflect the same feeling. Like she's attempting to remain somewhat reserved.

"Prove me wrong."

"I work with people everyday with many disabilities. They are some of the most interesting people I've ever met."

"How so?" I ask, sounding vaguely interested as I pick up a biscuit. It's a little dry. What, they couldn't be bothered to make some fresh biscuits?

"Clients with autism, you never know what they'll be fixated on when they come in. Those with manic depression; it's always a coin toss if they will be exuberantly happy or terribly depressed or thrown into a manic episode. Schizophrenics have other people inhabiting their minds with completely different personalities than the person you can see. And you never know what is going on in their minds except that they are constantly at war."

She actually managed to hold my interest here. "I assume you're never bored."

"Only on the days I have off," she says with a smile and starts on her dish. "But even then, there's always Raven."

"Raven?" I ask after another sip of tea.

"She's my room mate," she clarifies, "And the exception to the whole too-smart-for-friends rule."

"Ah yes," I say, pushing my cup to the side, "There's an exception to every rule."

"That's certainly a fact." She pauses for a moment. "Raven is actually the one that decoded the message for me. She never saw the reply."

I just nod. It's no surprise to me.

She checks the time. "It was nice seeing you again," she says with a smile.

"Likewise."

I watch as she goes to pay for her tab. I notice the look of surprise on her face. She turns to me and nods in thanks. I didn't mind paying her tab. I just smile back at her and watch her leave.

Our lunch date wasn't that bad. It confirmed a lot of my suspicions. I'm pretty sure I have her figured out. Boring and ordinary as usual. But there is something about her. Just underneath the surface. Something I haven't reached yet. Of course, she seems to like me. Mission accomplished. And her friend, this Raven, I need to figure her out as well. I don't bother finishing this old dried up biscuit and take my leave.

* * *

 **Cameron: Girl Talk**

"So?" Raven asks in an expectant tone of voice. Okay, so maybe I came home a little more excited than I had intended.

"Learned a little more about this Jim character," I say with my undeniable grin.

"I can tell," she says. Of course she can, she's my best friend. And the best detective I know. "You went to the café then?"

"I did," I answer. "And he was in almost complete denial about him hiding something, but I knew better than to ask any direct questions."

Raven smirks, clearly enjoying my little tale. "Ooh, scary." She chuckles and adds, "But it's easy to see u like this guy."

"Oh, shut up," I say, rolling my eyes at her tease. But then my curiosity gets the better of me. "Why do you say that, Ray?"

"Why do I say what?"

"It's easy to see how I like him."

"You gave him your number," oh great, she's going to actually have a list of things, some one please save me. "Accepted his coded invitation to lunch, and you came in that door looking like the first day of spring." She smirks. "You can't not like him."

Okay, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't actually pleased with her analysis. "Well you can't blame me, can you?" And now I start my own list. "He's clearly brilliant, he knew I've taken psychology classes without my ever saying." Okay, I have to be at least a little objective, right? "But he's too brilliant for his own good."

"What do you mean?" I'll admit, it isn't every day you hear of someone saying that about anyone.

"It's not exactly unheard of," I say, starting to explain. "People of extreme intelligence end up isolating themselves because no one else is on their level, believing everyone else is stupid or boring. It often drives them to doing illegal things." Time for me to admit it: "Jim has mentioned both times how boring people are."

Ray kinda raises her brows. "So you're thinking this guy is trouble?" I knew that was what she would focus on.

"Not entirely," I start. "TroublED, maybe, but I wouldn't go so far to assume he IS trouble. I think there's some genuineness in him, but its hard to pinpoint for sure." I mean, he is guarded. "He's so calculated; gave the illusion of conversation when he cleverly kept me busy answering questions while the few I asked were never really answered." I think seriously on these facts. I mean, his coding already tells me he's hiding something.

"Sounds very scintillating," Ray says, pulling me out of my thoughts. We chuckle a bit.

"That's about the size of it. So how's the development of the painting case coming along?"

"Well, I went to the exhibit today just to see for myself."

"And?"

"You were right about the canvas."

I nod. I knew it. "Any leads on the culprit?"

"Well, seeing as the painting would've had to be examined by an expert before the exhibit, I'd assume they're involved."

I can see that. "Unless it was left alone for any length of time prior to the show casing. After the examination, that is."

"True, but that still leaves it to someone in the museum's employ. I doubt they'd make such a big deal about a painting and then leave it unattended"

"Makes sense."

"So now comes the fun part," Ray says.

I just smile and shake my head at her.

"What?"

"Just your definition of fun. Oh," I just remembered. "You never told me what happened to our old plates."

"I sure didn't."

"Raven," I say, crossing my arms.

"Are you interrogating me now?"

"Those were my dishes too. I think I have a right to know." I give a her a serious look.

"I'll tell you some day," she says with a smirk, grabbing some papers.

"Ra-" I just sigh in exasperation. She already took off out the door.

But I still can't help but smile at her, either. Raven can be so flighty sometimes. If anyone is far from boring, it's Raven.

Jim should meet her some day...

I get a text from Jim.

 _Tenth or tea chairs?_

Obviously not tenth chairs, that doesn't make any sense. But now that I know he codes things on purpose, I actually take my time to solve it.

I stare at it. Tenth or tea chairs. I remember how some of my Autistic clients read and talk so slowly that it sounds like they are speaking something entirely different than they had intended. Tenth-or-tea-chairs...tenth-or-tea... Oh! 10:30. And chairs? No, it has to be a place. Could he mean Jer's? I can feel myself light up.

"What now?" Ray asks.

"Apparently," I say with a bright smile, "I have a date." I try to decide how to answer. All be dare? Nah. What if I used a different kind of code entirely? I just send him a plus sign.

"With the mysterious Jim?" she asks.

"That's the one. 10:30, I better make myself presentable." I go to get ready for the late night dinner date.

* * *

 **James: Jer's**

I've invited her to a place called Jer's. For now, I just linger outside until she arrives. I've been trying to figure out why she remains a steady thought in my mind. There's no clear reason why I should be so interested in her. But I might as well have fun trying to find out.

"You dance pretty well," I say when she arrives.

"I learn quickly."

"I'm wondering if perhaps you're not as ordinary as you look," I say with a dead straight expression while gesturing to go inside. And I actually mean it.

"It takes ordinary people for brilliance to shine."

I actually chuckle a bit. Then I turn to the host. "Table for Cameron Allen."

The man shows us to a table. I can tell Cameron is somewhat surprised by the fact I knew her name. But seriously? It's so easy a monkey could do it. And most people are.

"You keep confirming you're hiding something."

"I believe people should work for what they want."

"And yet at times it's best to let things be." I'm actually not sure what she meant by that. Once we sit down, she orders tea again and says, "Know what makes it easy to dance?"

I look at her with a questioning expression. "Pray tell."

"A partner whose dance steps are very sure and calculated."

"I'm sure. But then, one might find themselves dancing alone."

She sits back comfortably and takes a sip of her tea. "You're an awful lot like my eldest brother."

There are so many people here. All I hear is their meaningless conversation. 'How are the kids?', 'We're getting married', 'The company is merging and we have to let you go.' What a minute, that one actually is interesting. Oh yeah, I'm supposed to respond to my own conversation.

"How so?"

"You allow your intelligence to isolate you from everyone else."

Duh. "Do I? Really?" I hear my own voice, borderline sarcastic.

"So why Jer's?" she asks, changing the subject.

"Why not?" I say with a shrug. "I like to be spontaneous."

"You mean pre-measured spontaneity."

Well. "Fair enough."

Cameron orders a dinner for herself. I'm not hungry but I order just the same.

"You were quite clever at the café, giving the illusion of conversation without actually saying anything." Good. She actually picked up on that.

"Thank you." Let's see what else she can pick up on. I pause for a moment, thinking. "Excuse me. I have to take care of something." I get up from the table and walk out of the restaurant. Once outside, I just wait around the corner. Honestly, I'm starting to enjoy this little game. I walk back inside to find a note sitting on the table.

 _ll #4\/3 70 w0xl #4d3x 1f ll w4%7 70 l%0w ^^3_

Huh? Well I have to give her credit for creativity. Although it doesn't take me more than a minute to decipher it.

 _You have to work harder if you want to know me_

Right. It's gonna be real hard. I just smile to myself. The check is already paid. The food goes to waste, but it's not like it was going to feed the poor.

As I head home, I keep looking at her note. I'm trying to figure out what went through her mind when she decided to leave it. I had expected that she would leave, but I admit I didn't anticipate the note. What did she expect to accomplish with this? She thinks I'm belittling her, doesn't she? She thinks I'm too aloof to care about her and she doesn't want to be treated like a rug. Well that's partially true. But she doesn't know just how interested I really am.

* * *

 **Cameron: Put Off**

Ugh. Does he really think he can just step all over someone, especially a prospective partner? I mean, honestly. If he wanted to walk over someone, he shouldn't have chosen a professional psychotherapist.

I finally get home, and none too soon. Why is there a black envelope just inside? Ray is off on a case, she isn't due home for another couple of hours. I open the envelope and read the note.

 _Excellent move._

Oh, so now Jim is stalking me. I roll my eyes in disgust. I get on Ray's computer and do a reverse look up of Jim's number.

Richard Brook? What did he do, steal someone's phone? I web search Richard Brook. Wait, this is really his phone? Why did he put it under Richard Brook? But if he's hiding as I am sure he is, then it would only make sense to use a fake name. Detective school of Raven Baxter, lesson number one: People in hiding use an alias.

How does he know where I live? Did he trace my number to find my last name? It's only fair if I know the same...so I look up where he is staying. Just to get on the same playing field, I tell myself.

But everything I just learned makes him mysterious and yet it makes more sense, too. Hm...

* * *

AUTHORS' NOTE:

Hi! We just wanted to thank you again for your patience and support as we finally can say we are published, chapter by chapter. It's a shame we can't sell this as our own creation because it is based off the modern BBC series of Sherlock. We do not own Jim Moriarty. We do, however, own the plot and psychotherapist Dr. Cameron Allen and her best friend, Detective Raven Baxter.

Again, we appreciate any feed back, questions, or suggestions that you have. Our ears are opened and we will reply to any comments made swiftly. Thank you again!


	3. Chapter Three: The Unacceptable Apology

**James: Let's Start Over**

"I wonder how long I should wait before bringing up my 'apology'," I ask myself out loud as I stand over a pot of tea in my apartment, the morning after the short dinner with Cameron. As if on cue, the cat jumps onto the counter and makes noise at me.

"What?" I say to it, "Do you know the answer?"

It just lets out a low 'meow' and nudges a tin of cat food. Right. I put some in the bowl for it. Now where was I? Oh yeah, the apology. I get my mobile off the table and send her a text.

 _Let's start over_

 _Come to the park at noon_

 _-Jim_

I look at the cat, who hasn't touched the food it wanted so badly. "What's the matter with you?" I say with a sigh. I know I shouldn't talk to it like that. But it's the only other living being I ever spend time with. I received the little ball of grey fur a couple years ago, after I 'died'. Of course, I'll take the source of this gift to my grave. But until then, I've grown used to having it around.

Until Cameron replies, I'll take advantage of the time and lazily roam around with my cup of tea, glancing over my scattered traces of Sherlock.

I watch the clock until its almost time. She hasn't replied, and she might not even be coming, but I have to show up just in case im wrong- which isn't likely. I lock up the apartment and walk to the park. Taking cabs isn't really my thing.

There is no sign of her at the park. She's giving me the cold shoulder. "Oh Wow I've learned my lesson haven't I?" I say to myself in a low mumble. Checking my phone one last time, I leave the park and get myself something to nosh on while I wait.

After some amount of wandering, I head over to her office -well the building that houses her office. Inside, I take note of the place. Its not bad. I sit in the downstairs lobby for a bit, picking up a magazine. Looking like I'm just waiting on an appointment is easy, no one ever questions it. Time crawls by at an excruciating rate. I think on her reasons for leaving me in the dark. What might be going through her mind? Is she genuinely upset? Or is she playing a coy game with me? I bite the bullet and wait until the very end of her work day.

"Hello?" I say when I reach her office, I'm looking for a Ms Cameron Allen?"

The secretary looks up. "Did you have an appointment, sir?"

"No. But she knows me. My name's Richard Brook."

"I'll go check if she will see you." She gives a polite nod and calls cam on the phone. "Go down the hall, take a left. She'll be the first door on your right."

"Thanks." I follow her directions and head to Cameron's office. The door is open, so I step inside. She's sitting at her desk looking professional -on purpose, I assure you. I'm not nearly as dressed up as she is, but I look fine for a walk in the park -which was my intention.

"Afternoon," I say slowly, slipping my hands deep into my pockets.

She looks up. "Afternoon, Mr. Brook. What brings you here today?"

"An apology, of course."

"An apology in what manner, Mr. Brook?" she asks as she writes in her notebook.

Seriously? I have to fight not to roll my eyes right out of my head. "My behaviour was less than appropriate. I'm not without manners and for that I apologize."

"Your disappearance wasn't the problem and I am fully aware that you have manners. And until you have figured out what it is you need to work harder on, I believe there is nothing more for you to discuss." Well doesn't she change when she's in her queendom? "Now if you'll excuse me, my work here is done."

Is it?

"Are you referring to the note at your apartment or to me 'hiding something'?" I ask without letting my sarcasm slip.

"You and I already know that you're very bright. If you want a relationship bad enough, I'm sure you'll figure it out." With those words, she leaves the office. Ouch. Is she really going to force me to sound desperate?

"Alright, Ms. Allen, I get it." I gesture for her to stay and talk.

She stops. "Do you?" she says, sounding doubtful.

"Yes, I do," I say with a small sigh. "First off, my name isn't Richard Brook. In case you were wondering."

"I wasn't." Ouch again.

"My name is in fact Jim. Jim Moriarty." I wait a bit to see if there is any sign of change in her. Nope. Okay. "I go by Brook because Jim Moriarty is dead. I'm dead. At least as far as everyone else is concerned."

Cameron is silent for a while. "I see." Her expression has softened some. Not much, but some.

"Does it bother you? Having had lunch with a ghost?" I find my own humor in it but I I can see she is clearly unamused.

"You underestimate me. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm late and my room mate will begin to worry." And she again starts walking away.

"Maybe, maybe not," I say casually, "You're not the least but curious though? If you're not, I dare say I overestimated you."

"Even if I were, it will have to be discussed another time. Farewell Mr. Brook."

Not too bad. It could have been better, but it wasn't too bad. I linger a bit. No one said I had to leave. And as long as the door is open...

I quietly shut the door behind me and take a look around. Why does she have a sandbox in her office? As I continue to look around, I realize her office is absolutely stocked with toys. And art supplies. What is this? A therapist office or a day care?

Appointment book, contact information, blah blah blah. For some reason I thought a psychotherapist would be more interesting. I mean she deals with these crazy -excuse me. "Mentally ill" people, I would think there should be at least one or two things worth my time. Relevant or otherwise.

File cabinets look promising. Locked. Yeah that's a deterrent. I get it open and look through the folders. Boring, boring, boring- oh what's this? I see some files written in the same code as the note she left on the table at Jer's. Why would she do that? If she thought someone would break through the lock, why not code all of the files? Is there something special about these?

After looking them over, I notice two things: her codes are inconsistent -annoying, and that the parts left in code aren't really secret. In fact they are the most interesting parts in this office. Experiences of trauma, murder, abuse, chronic shoplifting, and a few promising patients I might even be interested in meeting. I'm feeling pleasantly impulsive today, I take a couple slips of contact information into my pocket. Maybe I could use them in my spare time. Other than that, there's nothing else left in this office worth looking at. Now is a good time to get on with my own business. On my way out, I smile at the secretary.

"Thank you," I say genuinely and leave the building.

* * *

 **Cameron: After work**

"Hey, Ray," I say, coming in the door. "¿Como esta?"

"Buenísimo," she answers. "¿Y Tu?

"Fairly well," I say with a grin. "Guess."

"You found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?" She almost sounds serious and excited.

"Nice try," I say, laughing at her.

"Didn't think so. Whatcha got?"

"Jim came back," I study her reaction.

She raises her brows. "And?"

"Apologized for lack of manners and poor behaviour, as if that was the reason I left," I say, rolling my eyes, smiling nonetheless.

"I'm assuming that's not all, judging by your smiles."

"No, not all," I say, grinning bright. "I didn't accept his apology and told him I wouldn't. Not until he figured out the reason he has to work harder.

So he told me his full name and that he's in hiding. It makes perfect sense with everything I've figured out and it was obvious he's telling the truth." Not that that's why I backed off from him.

"Oh, the plot thickens." She's really enjoying this mystery Jim. "Jim's in hiding; I wonder who from."

But wait a second. He's still in hiding, he isn't showing himself yet. He's still guarded. He is far too intelligent to trust me with a secret like his being dead, he hardly knows me. "Something's wrong with this picture."

"Care to elaborate on that?"

"He's too smart to have just told a girl he barely knows something like that, even though it's clearly the truth. He's still hiding." Seriously thinking hard on it.

"How could he still hide if it is really the truth? Doesn't that defeat the purpose?"

"Not that kind of hiding," I say. "He's hiding the man he is inside, not his imagined death."

"Oh? Death, you didn't mention that."

Oops. "Slip of a detail," I say dismissively. "Anyway, I intend to find out what he really is wanting out of this. He seems too keen on gaining my trust. That's the only reason I can imagine he would tell me something like that. You know i would never have asked him straight out for what he's hiding. He volunteered it, but too easily, too soon."

"I'd have to agree with you there."

I smile at my Latino friend. "At least I know I'm right when you agree."


	4. Chapter Four: Turning Tables

**Cameron: The Phone Call**

My phone rings, signifying I have a phone call. I look at the ID. It's Jim? This is new. I answer it. "Yes?"

After a brief pause, I hear him say, "How's this afternoon for another time?"

Does he really think I care about him being a 'ghost'? I mean, get real. But then, it is the perfect opportunity to find out what is really going on here. I finally reply. "Alright."

"The park, 12:30."

Yes, sir. I hang up and roll my eyes. Honestly though, the thought of confrontation makes me a little nervous but I ignore it and force myself to remain calm so I can get ready. I let Ray know where I'm going and that I have my phone on me. Just in case anything were to happen.

When I do get there, I see Jim Moriarty sitting on a bench, watching and waiting. I take a deep breath and walk up to him.

"Hello," I say as neutrally and unreadable as possible.

"Hello," he says in a relaxed voice.

Okay, here goes. "Why did you choose to tell me your biggest secret?" I ask, still being careful to not show anything.

"What makes you so sure that's my biggest secret?"

"Don't trifle with me." Okay, maybe I'm a little mad. "I never asked or required you to tell me you're dead. You told me a serious secret and you don't even know me. Why?"

"Because you have a confidentiality policy." This is not the time to be joking with me, mister. I want to wipe the smirk off his face.

"You never signed the paper and I certainly hadn't," I say very plainly.

He smiles. He actually has the nerve to smile. "Alright," he says. "I told you because I wanted to be sure."

"Of what?"

"I wanted to be sure I was right about you," he says with a surprising amount of genuineness in his expression.

What on earth is that supposed to mean? That I'm not an idiot, that I'm perfect for some stupid game, that I'm the right girl to have a relationship with or what? Failing at guessing, I just ask candidly, "What do you expect from this?"

"Like I said," he says slowly, "I don't have friends."

"Yes, i remember." What is he trying to insinuate? "But having friends is a matter of choice." I add, "and trust. For someone so intelligent, u seem awful desperate for my trust."

"Is that wrong?"

What kind of question is that? "If u were an actual client, I'd say no. But even many of my not-so-bright clients refuse to entrust me their serious secrets until they've known me for a long time. And that is *with* the contracts signed."

"That may be true but it's more fun this way." He pauses for effect, which is lost on me. "What do you do with a big, bad, scary secret?"

"You mean like the reasons your dead?" I say incredibly plainly. I'm so done with this.

"Maybe."

I study him carefully. He is still guarded and nearly unreadable. "No, tell me."

He kind of chuckles, which is annoying. "Oh, don't worry, it's not a trick question. You keep them," he says with this really annoying smile. "If you're smart you will. What does that tell you, miss 'psychotherapist'?"

That you are being extremely condescending and cocky and trying to prove a pointless point. "That you're trying to use me for something."

"Good; Cynical, but good." He stands up and I take one step back to maintain personal space. "But you missed something."

"Have I?" I ask dryly. He nods with some measure of excitement in his eyes. "Then pray, tell. Heaven knows you're not shy."

He gives another infuriating smile. "Oh, but you can't have everything handed to you." Okay, I am a bit insulted now. I'm not begging for information. He glances aside as though to make a point. "But here's a hint. You've really got to start thinking outside of the box, Cameron." With that he tips his figurative hat to me and just walks off.

Okay, now I am mad. Take the long way home to burn off the steam.

* * *

 **James: After the park**

I'm pretty satisfied with our meeting. I think I've regained a bit of control over the situation, and for that I feel much better. I wonder if she's plight enough to solve my little clues. If not, maybe It's not worth my time anymore. Not that I have anything else to do...

Her expressions told a lot about her opinion of me. Its not as enamoured. I can tell i offended her and I got some satisfaction out of that. Its payback for thinking she could throw me off so easily. She has a certain way about her. And there is still that nagging feeling that there is more to her than meets the eye. I admit, she has given me a couple of curve balls, I give her credit for that. All that's left to do now is wait for her to make the next move. Come to think of it, I haven't thought about Sherwack in- oh right. Oh well. Back to business as usual.

* * *

 **Cameron: Background Check**

I knew there is something wrong with this picture. He was trusting me in the wrong things. He admits he's using me somehow. He is definitely not interested in a relationship. Why would he tell me to think outside the box? What box? I didn't want to know why he's dead, I just wanted to know what he expects. I have always done better in my studies, but that's only because I like to get inside people's mind rather than going solely on the books. I like to learn to think like them. So what is Jim thinking? What isn't he saying? Who he is inside and what he's done, whatever that is. Why? He's shady, something somehow happened.

What box? Oh...his death. That box, the one he's buried in. We both know he's too smart and calculated; he wouldn't tell anyone he doesn't know. Unless it doesn't matter.

Raven said it defeated the purpose to be honest about hiding, and she was right. We both were, just in different ways.

"Raven, I need your computer."

"Hm?" she says on mid-snack. "Uh, sure go ahead."

Guess I took her off guard. I don't bother with thanks and just get on the computer. I'm too focused on figuring Jim out to care.

I web search Jim Moriarty. Well, James. Most information uses legal names rather than preferred nicknames. I need to know his history, get to know him, how and why he thinks and does things. Honestly, with his personality, I would not be surprised if he was a criminal or murder of some sort. But of course, with the way I am I probably would never breath a word of it. Wow, what is wrong with me? But I need to get inside his brain, I have to be able to think like him.

There's news articles saying he's a a mere hoax, an alias for a hired actor named Richard brook to take blame for crimes he never committed. They claim the real criminal master mind is a man named Sherlock Holmes that is considered a fake detective. Moriarty, aka, Richard Brook, was set free in a rigged trial where he should have been convicted of numerous awful crimes. According to the news, when Sherlock Holmes was exposed as the real criminal, he committed suicide.

I chew on the information meditatively. He was telling the truth about his name, that it was Jim, not Richard. And he knew better than to lie to me about it. Most people could easily believe these stories, Jim could pull the wool over most anyone's eyes. He is smart enough to do so. I lean back in the chair and close my eyes in an effort to focus on the way he may think. What does he want? If his death no longer matters, he wants back. Why? A novel thought occurs to me. What would he do if I didn't play into his little games? And how did he know she knew his fake first name was Richard if Nancy never said? Nancy only called him Mr. Brook...

"Raven, what r the chances of a case suspect to b monitoring the use of your computer?" I ask, emerging from my deep thoughts.

"Slim to none," she says. "Why?"

Knowing Jim, he's likely to. How else would he know she knew his first name?

"Just a funny feeling." I need to go somewhere that no one could be sure I was the one using the internet. "I'm going to the library. I've got some research to do." Because it can be tracked, I put my phone in the desk. "Call the library if you need me. See you in a bit."

At the library, I decide to dig deeper. I don't want his recent past. I need his childhood. And those news stories earlier had to be wrong. His name is Jim. So I look up what crimes he 'took the blame for,' since those are the truths about him. How old was he when he first committed a crime? That can tell a whole story about a person right there.

He was 12? And the crime was unsolved for 15 years? He had to be incredibly smart to accomplish such a 'perfect' crime at such a young age. As I read on I realize he may have been sorely misunderstood as a child. The victim, Carl Powers, may have been a bully. And with Jim's level of intelligence, he could have been what triggered him to lead the life of crime he does today. So why would he just give me a hint and then walk off? He expects me to come running to him with my findings, doesn't he? He did say that not everything can be handed to me. Seriously? What sort of an idiot does he think I am? I'm a psychotherapist, not a desperate woman! But what if I did play average? He knows I'm not typical or he wouldn't have bothered with me to begin with. Would he play along in hopes to get me to bend to his will? I mean, I cant deny that I like him. I could play the roll of desperate woman; heaven knows I've worked with enough of them. I clear my history and go back home to get my phone.

"Hey, is there something going on?" Ray asks, concerned.

"Just me trying to get inside someone's mind," I say. "You know how that is." As I grab my phone, I take this chance to clear Ray's computer history, too. I also write a quick note in OSL and slip it into an envelope. Now I'm ready.

* * *

 **James: Curve Ball at the Café**

I see an envelope has been slipped under my door. I pick it up and read the contents. It's a coded note from Cameron. Again with that mixed up code.

 _Meet me at the café in half an hour._

Hm. Interesting. Why not?

I arrive at the café and see Cameron there.

"Hello, Jim."

"Hello," my tone is pretty much devoid of emotion. I'm expecting an explanation.

She hesitates. "I know I've made quite a few assumptions about you." Get to the point. "Do you know the real reason I accepted your invitation or gave you my email to begin with?"

"Why?"

"Because you're the first man I've met that wasn't afraid of a girl with an opinion."

Is that all? "You must not have met many men."

"Perhaps you're right. But then, most men don't enjoy the possibility of being psychoanalysed either. And I don't blame them. It's not exactly something I can help." She pauses slightly. "Won't you sit down?"

I do sit down.

"The reason I was put off before was because it seemed you still didn't really get what it was I said you needed to work harder on." She seems really open today. Not at all guarded. ...Why? "But given your extreme intelligence" -thank you- "it should have occurred to me before that maybe you truly just don't know."

"Is that why you asked me here?"

"Yes."

Really? What exactly is she implying? "You invited me to come here so that you could tell me that I'm socially dysfunctional?"

She actually chuckles. This isn't funny. This isn't the conversation we're supposed to be having. "Not quite. See, you're a great dancer in intelligence and I'm a great dancer in people skills. We are both fast learners and I thought maybe we should give this another try."

Interesting. It seems she's put quite a bit of thought into this. "Okay."

She smiles. "Now then. Tell me a but about yourself."

No. "I like riddles."

Another smile from Cameron. "And I love poetry. Those are like riddles."

"Poetry is at the heart of many things. Riddles, music, fairytales..."

"Indeed it is. What sort of music do you like?"

"Classical."

"Piano or orchestral?"

"Preferably orchestral." I find myself viewing this as more an interrogation than a genuine conversation.

"No wonder you speak of dancing."

I allow myself to smirk. "And yourself?"

"I do enjoy classical." I'm sure you do. "But I'm a bit more exotic."

What? I raise an eyebrow.

She continues, "I like a lot of bachata." Oh, good.

"Make it salsa and you've got a deal."

Cameron seems to be enjoying this. Why? "I'm sure I could stand to listen to some salsa again. It's been forever."

"I'll keep it in mind." This whole conversation is shallow. The way she started out, I thought I was coming on a hidden gem. Then my mobile starts ringing. I really wish I had changed the tune. I'm starting to find it slightly embarrassing.

"Another song I haven't heard in a while."

I sigh, slightly annoyed, and switch it off. "Sorry."

"It's alright. If there is something you need to take care of, feel free. There's no rush here." She smiles with an easy-going demeanour.

This is starting to feel a bit odd. She's not reacting how I would expect. last time she seemed to be put off if I didn't give her the desired attention. Now she seems... tolerant. Too much so. What's really going on?

"No, no. It's no problem," I finally reply.

"What about your family? Do you have any siblings?"

"No," I say with barely a second's thought.

"Ah. That puts you at a disadvantage."

"Why?"

"No one to be forced to get along with or learn to resolve issues," she says with a smile. "Less patience, more spoiled, no one to teach or aspire to be, no one to learn from or to be looked up to."

Don't need it.

"Generally speaking, anyway," she continues. "Xander only had me. I was 9 when he left."

She's not going for sympathy is she? Doesn't matter. "So you consider yourself having an advantage then?"

"You could say that," she says with a grin, "I have been in every situation possible: Youngest, only, middle, and oldest child. In that order."

"Adoption." Easy.

"Close. Foster care, then adoption."

Same difference.

"And I never lived with my second oldest brother. I hardly know him."

I just nod and look out the window, my interest waning.

She pauses for a bit. "Well thank you for coming."

That's my cue. I give her a little smile before getting up and leaving.

Wow. I- I don't know what that was. What the bloody heck is wrong with me? It's like my head was on backwards. It felt like I was one step behind her rather than in front. Something isn't right. Things are taking an unexpected turn. Maybe she's figured out that I'm playing her. Maybe she's trying to play me back. That's an interesting thought. Of course I wasn't exactly 100% honest but who cares? I don't.

Oh right, I had a phone call. I call them back. "This better be good."

* * *

 **Cameron: Finally**

Finally.

I finally got Jim to open up enough for me to learn about him. I mean its _him,_ not this guarded and empty façade of a person he pretends to be. He wasn't hiding or dodging. And I threw him off his game, I know he didn't expect me to apologize and then turn the conversation around to him. I like this, playing average and unassuming, simply interested in him. I mean, it's the truth to a large extent, but it is also the perfect way to get inside his head, learn how he works and what his thinking processes are.

After a couple of hours of taking car of good old fashioned errands and mulling the day over, I finally get home.

"Well somebody is in a good mood," Ray says.

"Oh, am I ever!" I say, laughing as I put the paid bills receipts on the table. "I actually learned some things about Jim today."

"Like what?"

"Riddles, Classical orchestral music, Salsa, Only child, needs assistance with informal relationships," I list off with a wide grin.

She raises her brows, impressed. "Look at you go."

I succumb to giggles. "Took me long enough to figure it out," I say, putting our groceries away. "I should have recognized it sooner. Did I tell you or did I tell you he was too smart for his own good?"

"You did at that," she chuckles. She starts assisting me with the groceries.

There's a knock at the door, interrupting our lively conversation. Who would be calling at night? I open the door.

"Jim," I say, obviously surprised. "What brings you here?"

"Hi um," he starts, seeming uncomfortable. "You won't believe this, the guy in the floor above mine..." He trails off. Then a somewhat annoyed look enters his expression. "Interpol is in my flat."

I blink. "Oh. Um." What does one do in a situation like this? "Have a seat." I guess get Ray involved. "Do you know if anyone is investigating it yet or is it still just the police handling it?" Because if it's his neighbours fault and they framed him, he could be out of his flat for quite a while.

"Just the police."

"Just a minute," I say with a nod. I go and get Raven. "Hey, Jim is here and he sounds like he may have a case."

Raven follows me back to the front room where Jim is. "Oh, hi," she says. "Um, nice to finally meet you."

I smile. "Jim, this is Raven. I've actually been wanting the two you to meet."

Raven looks between Jim and I. "So what's this about? You require my excellent services?" She asks, intending to be a little silly.

"Um, no," Jim says.

"Raven is a detective. I figure if she got in on the case, you would have your flat back to yourself sooner." I assumed maybe he just didn't know why I brought Raven into the conversation.

"That's not why I'm here," he says.

"Well I knew that," I say, somewhat confused. How could if he didn't know Ray was a detective? "It was just an offer." It dawns on me. He led me to believe it was someone else's fault for whatever brought Interpol to his flat when that is not the case.

"I know that. Thank you." He doesn't sound very sincere. In fact, he looks rather annoyed.

"Alright," I say, sitting down. I assume my neutral, psychotherapist mode. "What's the problem, then?"

"I'm leaving and I thought id pay you the courtesy of..." He trails off again. Then changes his mind completely. "Oh, who am I kidding, I want you to forget I was here."

He's leaving? What- why? And why would I choose to forget him? He can be incredible, he's unique, and interesting and intelligent and just "No."

"What?" he ask, taken off guard.

"No," I say more firmly. What part of no don't you get? "No, James, I am not going to forget you just because your found out and decide to up and run. I saw those reports and I know they're false and believe me when I say _I don't care._ " I look him in the eyes intensely to be sure he knows how serious I am.

This, too throws him. It's like anything human is foreign to him. "Fine, remember me if you like. just don't say anything about it." And now he actually has the nerve to turn and leave after my expressing sincere care and interest in him!

"You leave and you lose the only other person able to keep up with you," I say in an attempt to keep him from running off. Then, remembering how he framed Sherlock, I add, "That is, until you figure out how to *come back.*"

He turns to look at me, stone faced and simply chuckles.

Fine. If that's the way he wants it, he can have it. "You got what you came for," I say placidly. Yes, I know what your game was. "The problem is you got more than you bargained. Isn't it?" My question spoken cold heartedly.

* * *

 **James: Spending the Night**

More than I bargained? "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Someone that isn't against you but still knows the truth. Someone that somehow intrigues you even though you can orchestrate elaborate outcomes from beginning to end perfectly." Compliment. "Some one that can understand you if you would just let them. Someone that still wants to know you"

Really. No one can "know" me. But I can't deny that her words intrigue me. "Wrong day to run I suppose." She just might have hit the spot. "You win. This time," I say firmly, "I'll stay."

"Now then," she starts with a look of relief, "Would you like some coffee or tea?"

"Tea, please."

She smiles and walks off to retrieve said tea. It's not long before she returns. "Here you are, Jim."

"Thank you." I pause for a moment, growing curious. "Would it really have bothered you if I left? All games aside."

"You may have been playing games, but I wasn't."

Oooh. Really? This doesn't sound right in the LEAST. But I can't really call her on it. What would that accomplish? I take a sip of the tea.

"That's what is different between you and I me: I hide behind truths, but I never hide who I am.

I shrug. "I suppose that works for some people."

"Who I am and what I've done do not equate. I wasn't expecting you to tell me about your hiding or what led to it. But I was expecting you to tell me little things about yourself such as the riddles, music, your family, the things that shape your personality and everyday decisions."

Uh. "Why?"

"Because that's how all good forms of relationships are built," she says, sounding very sincere. Why all of a sudden is she _nice_? Or rather, acting nice.

"In that case I'm not an only child." Try that one.

"How many siblings?" She can't fool me with that poker face, I know my lying was a let down.

"One." Truth.

"Older or younger?"

"Older." Again, truth.

"Were you the favorite?"

What kind of question is that? "No," i say hesitantly. I have no reason to believe I was.

"Your parents were fair then?"

"I'd say."

"So were mine," she says with a smile, "They never played favorites."

"Hm," I respond. This is so pointless. I just sit there playing with the tea cup. Let's get on with some useful conversation. "Who said you could call me James?"

"It was to get a point across. When I'm angry or serious, I only use full names. And likely a sign I'm not playing some mind games." But if you were smart you would use full names during mind games to throw them off but I digress...

She continues with serious hesitation," And it's only with those I care about."

I abruptly stop fiddling with the cup. Then let it pass. "So long as you never call me Jimmy." I continue the conversation as if she hadn't said anything.

"No, never," she says with a laugh. I can't tell whether or not it is a nervous laugh. I bet it is. "Bad memories with a kid named Jimmy back in High School."

"Gotta love school," I say lightly while turning my attention back to the tea cup.

"The teachers weren't so bad. I actually like them. It was the kids I couldn't stand," she pauses briefly, "I understand you had it particularly rough back then." She sounds like she's walking on egg shells. She'd better.

"I took care of it." Plain response.

"I know." Oh I'm sure you do. "Maybe someday you'll be willing to share what really happened that day."

Not a chance. But I just laugh. "You make it sound so deep," I say lightly.

"It was your earliest record. For many, the first time is much more touchy than everything else that followed. It doesn't have to be deep to be sensitive."

"Nope," I say after finishing the tea, "Not at all." I try my best to sound indifferent. Maybe she'll change the subject.

"Oh," she says in a tone that's either awkward or disappointed. Not sure which. "Are there really police at your flat?" Yes! She changed the subject! Score Jim: one.

"Mycroft's feeling guilty."

"Who's Mycroft?"

"Oh nobody," I say dismissively, giving her bait.

She smiles slightly but she doesn't ask. "You know, I like the sound of James. It's really a nice names. Do you mind if I call you James more often?"

That takes me by surprise. She didn't take my bait AND she's asking to call me by my name? You're letting this get a little out of hand here, Jim.

"Then how would I know when you're angry?" I say in good humor.

"Believe me, you'll know." Her eyes are actually sparkling. WHAT IS GOING ON?

"Okay." I smile.

She looks please and takes my empty cup. I reluctantly find pleasure in her happy state, even though I seem to have lost control over the situation. She's changed too quickly. I need to know where this train derailed and quickly.

"I take it you'll be needing a place to spend the night?" she says from the kitchen.

"Don't worry. I won't spend it here," I answer.

"Are you sure? We've got some extra sheets and blankets if you don't mind sleeping on the couch."

Maybe it would be to my advantage... Besides it would be interesting to see what happens. I don't seem to be able to predict tonight's evens thus far. "Alright."

Cameron goes to the closet. When the door opens, she is doused by a huge bucket of water. That was also unexpected.

"Raven!" Cameron yells.

Her friend Raven runs into the room. "I told you not to open the closet." She says this with such a casual tone, it actual brings a small smile to my face.

"Well I forgot," she says with irritation. "You're dry. You get the blankets and sheets. Then she storms off, I assume to change into dry clothes.

I look to her friend. "Is it usually like this around here?"

"Yep," she says while laying out the sheets.

Maybe this isn't so boring.

"She'll get over it. I take it you're staying?"

"Yeah."

"Have fun," she says with a smirk before going to clean up the wet mess.

By then Cameron is coming out of her bedroom dawning dry clothes. Casual clothes for once. She walks over to assist her friend in the clean-up. I can see them talking amongst each other but I can't really understand them through their low volume. I wonder why she had a bucket of water in the closet. Must have been intended for a visitor. What visitor? And why are they so unwelcome? She must have close enemies. I like that.

"Sorry about that," Cameron says when she returns," Rule number one: If Raven says don't, you don't. Unfortunately, as you saw, I clearly forgot what I wasn't supposed to do."

"I'll keep it in mind." I can't help but be entertained by the whole bit.

"I'm sure I don't have to convince you that she isn't boring."

"Surely not."

"Well the bathroom is down the hall. If you need anything, I'm the last door." I can see her good mood has returned.

"Thank you."

She smiles hesitantly like there is something she wants to do or say. "Goodnight, James."

"Goodnight," I say hesitantly. I know that's not what she wanted to say but I'll let it go.

As she leaves the room, I ponder over what just happened. I wanted a change and that is certainly what I got. But it's strange. I found myself unable to stay in character. I felt so lost. But I didn't hate it. But of course Mycroft has come to ruin everything. Oh well. There's tomorrow to deal with that. For now, I just get comfortable on Cameron's couch as I try to run through the plans for tomorrow in my mind.

But I can't focus on those plans. Her comments about understanding me just keep fluttering through my mind. Does she really want to? Can she? She's kept me guessing so far. I just don't know.


	5. Chapter Five: Swaying Opinion

**Cameron: He's Gone**

I come in the living room expecting to see James, but he isn't in here. His sheets are already folded up perfectly. I check the kitchen. There's actually a tray of biscuits and tea waiting...but no James. I stare at between the sheets and the breakfast tray, the only traces of his ever being in their flat. I mean, it's such a simple thing, but these little gestures can say a lot. He actually cared enough to fold the sheets and going so far as making breakfast and tea. I know human things are foreign to him. So does he even know that he is enamouring me to him even more?

Finally snapping out of it, i put away the sheets- I look inside the folds to see if maybe, just maybe he left a coded note somewhere. But I am met with disappointment. I just help myself to the breakfast tray.

Ray emerges from her dungeon. "Hey," she says sleepily.

"Hi," I say. "Jim already left." I don't know what I was expecting if he had stayed. I just, it would have been nice.

"Oh." She takes a moment to process this. "Early bird."

"Yeah. Very early." So he's industrious. "He made these for us," I say, referring to the biscuits and tea.

"Really? He cooks too?" She smirks and helps herself.

"Apparently," I say, attempting a smirk.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," I say quickly. Okay, this is not my best acting. "I have to get ready for work." I get up to do that.

"You wished he would've stayed longer?"

I pause a moment. "Not necessarily." Just long enough to see him again before he left. I just finish getting ready. Maybe he left a note or something for me at work. I have grown accustomed to his strange notes in unusual places. But when I get there, I am sorely disappointed again.

Did he really, actually leave? He said he had to, like he was paying the courtesy of goodbye by coming last night. Did he believe it was good enough of a good bye? Will I hear from him again? Or was last night the end of the road? I take out a sheet of paper to write in an effort to soothe my unsettled mind.

My mind wanders back to last night. His family, how nice he was, how intelligent he is, just like Xander. How foreign a simple human relationship seems to be to him. He truly didn't understand why I wanted to know all these little things, he couldn't find the connection of why they are so important.

It's odd, really, my caring so much for him. I mean, it isn't a surprise or anything. He was only infuriating when I was judgemental of him. Now I understand he is just clueless to human connection and that it isn't entirely his fault for the way he is. And I'm sure whatever happened with Carl Powers didn't help any. But it's almost like I was hiding him. From the police...from Raven. I mean... I'm not even sure what I mean right now. But I do like his smile...

"Dr. Allen?" I snap out of my thoughts and look at Nancy talking to me. "Someone is here for you."

I take a deep breath to calm down. Today is not a day I need unexpected appointments. "Alright, Nancy," I say at last. "Send them in."

A man comes into my office, carrying a vase of flowers. "Ms. Allen?" he asks.

I draw my brows in confusion, even though I'm pretty sure of where this is going. "Yes?"

"These are for you." The man gives me the flowers.

"Thank you," I say, still in shock. He didn't leave without a trace, he even thought to send me flowers; I wouldn't have thought he would have known to do something so...human, I mean...I'm just happy to hear from him again. I smell the flowers deeply, relishing this eloquent gesture. I finally clear a space for it on my desk and actually look at the little card he sent me.

 _2919201815 20 13914_

 _-James_

I get to work on it immediately. Thankfully, it's my lunch break. The first part is easy. Bistro. T? It doesn't make sense. After a few minutes of fails, I try the next word. Min? Oh! 20 minutes, I'll be late!

I grab my little paper, stuff it on my pocket and rush to the Bistro. I barely make it on time. And there he is, James, sitting there in all of his relaxed glory as though nothing is wrong. He even smiles a little at me. "After noon," he greets me.

I just stare at him. He's still here, he hasn't run, he sent the flowers, he's just here, himself, not pretending...my mind is so cluttered, all that slips out of my mouth is, "you didn't say goodbye."

He looks at me, confused. "I didn't leave."

"How was I to know?" I ask. "Last night you said you were and this morning you left b4 I was up without so much as a note." I hope he doesn't think I'm mad, I just thought maybe something happened where he had to leave or that he was just going to ignore everything that happened last night or-

"Didn't realize it was a problem," he says, still a bit confused.

Okay, Cameron, get a hold of yourself. Take a deep breath and clear your mind. Remember: he just doesn't understand basic social graces. I join him, sitting down. "I'm sorry. I had gotten so caught up that I forgot you're like Xander."

"What now?"

"Just remember the next time you stay at someone's house, either wait until they are up to say goodbye or leave a note saying thanks or goodbye or something. Don't ask me how it makes a difference, I don't know how to explain it. But it does." The worry has finally left me with calm understanding. Took me long enough.

"Alright," he says. "But I did make breakfast."

"Yes you did. And you sent the flowers, both of which I am very grateful for." I smile. "Thank you, James." Why does calling him James give me a thrill?

He just smirks in response.

"Oh, speaking of which," I say, grabbing the paper out of my pocket. I smooth it out some and hand it to him, holding my breath.

* * *

 **James: Lost in the Bistro**

I take the note and look it over. It's in her favorite code again. She should change it up every now and then. But it's okay, I want to read what she has just the same. I seem to be more interested each time I see her. Especially after last night. I can't seem to see her the same way as I did at first. It's like the really person was hidden under a sheet and now I see something completely different. In any case, I decode her note.

 _An elaborate orchestral ball_

 _Cinder met a worthy dancer_

 _A man quick on his feet_

 _Sure of his steps_

 _With a strong arm did lead_

 _He bowed with great airs_

 _Authority he held_

 _But only Cinder saw what he was missing_

 _He was dancing only with himself_

 _No dame could by him be led_

 _With such quick, complicated steps_

 _'Miseur,' she called, 'won't you show me how?'_

 _He reflected on this thought fully_

 _And finally said, 'Well, sure'_

 _It wasn't easy at the first_

 _What with stepped on toes_

 _But soon he saw his partner_

 _A very worthy contender_

Interesting. Not exactly conventional as far as I know.

"Poetic," I say simply as I put down the paper.

Cameron gives me a shy smile. Why shy? We've known each other for five days and she's never acted shy.

"You said you like fairytales and riddles."

"Yes, I do," I reply with a bit of curiosity -pleased curiosity.

Now she looks up at me, looking embarrassed. Then her embarrassment turns into a confident smile. What?

"Well, Cinder, what's next?" I say, playing it cool.

"You're the one who asked me here," she says with a grin, "You tell me."

"There wasn't much to it," I admit. I didn't have a real reason, I just kind of wanted to see her again.

"Sometimes no reason is the best reason."

I shrug in response, even though I'm secretly pleased. "So, did you mean what you said last night?"

"Yes," she says, "I meant everything last night."

"You want to know me," I say as a doubtful question.

The people that know you the best have the best potential to surprise you," she hesitates, "I want to be that person, James."

Wow that escalated quickly. "And you decided that after barely a week?"

"No." Okay. "I've decided that I want to have that opportunity. If you'll let me."

That's a new one. She's so formal. Asking for permission for everything. Something about her makes it different that any of the fake girlfriends I've spent time with. All very painful. And all for a specific agenda. This time it's like- it's like I'm actually enjoying it. Maybe, just maybe, I'll let her have her way.

"And if I let you, what then?" I ask while looking out of the window, in thought.

"As you said. It's been barely a week. We'll have to see how it goes."

This manages to bring a small smile to my lips.

"So? Will you?" she asks.

I look at her, calculating her motives, her thoughts, her expressions. "Possibly."

"Only possibly?" she says but I can tell she is pleased at the possibility.

"Yep," I confirm.

"It's definitely something to think seriously about. It's not easy to be sure. Because it's risking something that you likely never have risked before. And it's something that everyone holds more precious than even their own lives." Stop making things sound so complicated.

"Risking what?"

"You're heart."

My thoughts screech to a halt. I just look at her in silence. Sure, I'm not as stupid as Sherlock to suggest I haven't got one. Hey, don't get yourself wrapped up in this, Jim. You're getting distracted. She's messing with your head. Forget the whole heart thing. Why is she suddenly changing her tune? It can't be just her realizing 'I just don't know stuff'. There has to be some string attached here.

Look," she says, looking down, "It's not easy putting your heart bare on the table." I'm not planning on it. "I'm terrified. I've never done this before. But you're the first person I think might be worth it." This is starting so sound like a con. It's too... pure. She even looks scared and embarrassed to seal the deal.

"You know, there aren't many people who would say that point blank, as you just did."

"Well. Not many people are psychotherapists used to pointing out these sorts of things. Nor do many people need them to be pointed out."

I raise a brow. Is she insinuating that I'm dense?

"Look, um" she breaks eye contact, "You think about it and let me know." She's rushed.

If this is a con, she's very good at it. It almost looks- it almost looks genuine. Now she has me second guessing myself. Could it be genuine? Am I just a little paranoid?

"What's the rush?" I call after her, "You haven't eaten yet."

"I'll- I'll have Nancy get me something," she says, trying to rush off again.

I run up to her and grab her hand. I'm not sure why. I just don't want her to go. I want her to stay. And I really do mean it. "You don't have to be nervous."

Why does she look like a deer caught in the headlights?

I hesitate before speaking. "Stay?" I realize I kinda sound awkward.

Cameron nods slightly which gives me some relief. I head back to the table with her. She looks so uncomfortable. Is that my fault? What am I supposed to do here?

She orders a simple lunch and there is a very, very long silence as I go through my library of experiences to figure out what other people do in this situation.

"Do you like it in Lille?" I ask finally.

She only nods some and sips her tea. Come on, Cameron, work with me here.

"Good," I can't understand what the big deal is. How can she possibly be this flustered. It's making me uncomfortable. "What brought you here?"

"Um," she struggles, "It's not too big of a city." She seems to think more. "It seemed like there were plenty of cases to keep raven busy and enough people to need my profession so we moved here."

"So, she's always been the private eye type?" I feel a bit more casual now. It seems I've gotten a grip on myself.

"And a major computer geek. Very tech savy." She seems to have relaxed a bit. Good.

"How long have you been sharing the flat then? Have you been getting booby trapped for a while or is that pretty recent?"

"Ever since she was old enough to move out," she chuckles a bit, "And as for the traps, about as long as I've known her."

Surprisingly, I genuinely chuckle with her.

"She's taught me a few nifty things on computers but I rarely have a need to use them so I have a tendency to forget. And she often has to tell important things about her detecting work in case we ever have to run from a suspect. It's surprising how similar psychology and detective work really are." She seems at ease again.

"I'm sure," I say, "You must be quite a detective yourself then." Compliment.

"No, I wouldn't say that. Not intentionally, anyway. I like trying to understand how people think; why they say and do the things they do. Just getting into their though processes. I've found if I can think like they do, it's easier to understand how to help them."

Is that what's going on here? "Ah."

"Dare I ask how you came to Lille?" she asks tentatively.

"Sounded good. it's far enough from London."

She nods. "Thank you for lunch, James. I really should get back to work. Let me know what you decide-"

"I've made my decision," I say quickly.

She looks up. "Oh?"

"I believe I will take that risk."

"Thank you," she says with a genuine smile.

I nod slightly and turn back to my plate as she walks away. What did I just do?

* * *

 **Cameron: I Spy a James**

I try not to burst through the door. "Ray. Guess." It's so hard to keep it all contained.

"You saw Jim?"

"Mmhm," hoping She'll go further.

"And... I don't know tell me," she gives up.

I just grin big. "We're dating. It's official!" I start giggling in my excitement.

"What, really?" Clearly, she wasn't expecting it and it just makes me more excited.

"Yes!"

"Well look at you going steady," she says with a chuckle.

"I swear, nothing could ruin this day."

"I'm glad," Ray says. "Because we need new cups."

"What happened to them?"

"They got broken." She sling her bag over her shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll pick them up this time."

"Okay. Can you pick up some fruit? We're running a bit low."

"Sure thing." With that, she heads out.

My excitement becomes too much. I am forced to go outside to jog and walk. Because I still can't believe it. He made breakfast. Sent me flowers. *didn't* leave. He *liked* my poem and read it like it was written in plain French. And he didn't want me to go...the way he grabbed my hand to ask me to stay...I actually look at my hand now and feel it with my other. I can still feel his touch, the electricity still lingering...And he is giving me a chance, we're dating, like, legitimately boyfriend and girlfriend, I can't believe it. He said he would take the risk of letting me get to know him. So now I can know him, really, really know him, the James he is inside that he keeps so hidden and guarded from the rest of the world.

I pass an outdoor café- I break into a smile. Look at James. He's just sitting there with a glass of wine on a glass table, looking so lost in thought.

I stand behind him a little ways and send him a text.

 _What are you thinking?_

And now I wait, watching in anticipation. He looks at his phone. Glances around briefly. Then puts his phone away. My phone signals a text message.

 _New dance steps_

I grin and reply.

 _Hard to dance without a partner_

I wait until his phone goes off again and before he can reply, I sit at the chair opposite of him.

"Fancy meeting you here," he says with a smirk.

"Surprised?"

"Little bit," he says. "Although your text gave me a bit of a warning." He smiles his absolutely wonderful smile. "I know you don't drink but I'd be delighted to get you something. Tea maybe?"

I laugh. "Now how did you know I don't drink?"

"I didn't know. I noticed."

"Fair enough." When you're right, you're right. And he is. "I wouldn't mind some sweet iced tea today." I think my face will freeze in a permanent smile. After he gets me my tea, I say, "I was just on a bit of a walk when I saw you here looking so thoughtful."

"Oh am I that noticeable?" He asks. "I'll have to work on that." He chuckles some. But it's like it was a bad thing I noticed him.

Oh, right, he's 'dead'. "I'm sure to anyone else, you were just part of the scenery."

He laughs some. He actually has a nice laugh. "Do you usually walk much?"

"Well, I don't make it a point," I chuckle. Heaven knows I need to walk more. "But I do like a good walk now and then. You?"

"Yeah, Its a good practice."

"Where do you usually like to walk?"

"Oh, anywhere. Its not really important where."

"If it weren't for my impatient energy-" over you, "i'd have gone to the park or some place else with trees and flowers."

"Ah. Well I prefer places with people."

"How come?"

"More interesting." How is that possible?

But then, with what little i know of him, it does make sense. "people watching?" I guess.

He chuckles. "Just about."

I smile some more. "I've always figured being around people defeated the purpose of walking."

"Depends on your purpose, doesn't it?"

I reflect on this. "Yeah, I suppose it does. If I'm alone, it helps me to think. And it's the perfect time to talk if someone accompanies me." Like all the walks I went on when I was still at home.

"Oh? Is that an invitation?"

"It can be," I give a playful smile. It wasn't what I meant, but I certainly don't mind the suggestion.

He smiles and leans back in his chair comfortably, stirring his glass. "How about it then?"

"Alright," I says standing up. "Where to?"

He gets up and actually leaves his expensive and untouched drink to walk with me. "Lets just see where it takes us," he says.

* * *

 **James: A Long Walk**

So here I am faced with a surprise visit. Cameron must be comfortable with me, in contrast to how flustered she seemed in the bistro.

"I used to go walking with my Mom all the time," she tells me as we start our own walk.

"Really?" I reply, hoping to make a better go at casual -meaningless- conversation.

"Yeah. There were so many kids in our house, I couldn't talk about important or embarrassing things. So we walked. It was out alone time." Why would you want to talk about embarrassing things?

"Sounds like a fond memory," I say, noting her reminiscent expression.

"Oh, yes. I've always treasured times like those. Before we got the kids, Papi and I would take out black chow mix out for walks and he would invent all sorts of adventures and stories, the silliest rhymes and stupid little games that somehow I would end up loving."

"Games are basically the foundation of childhood -and adulthood if you do it right," I say with a smirk.

"Look at you go, Mr. Psychologist," she says with a teasing tone in her voice.

"Not at all. I just play a lot of games."

"I had no idea you were the games type."

"Oh, always." We seem to banter quite easily.

"You'll have to teach me, then," she says lightly, "Or does that spoil your fun?"

"That depends. But I might teach you anyway."

She chuckles. "I look forward to it. I'm just afraid that I won't be able to return the favour."

"Don't worry," I say with a genuine smile, "You already are."

"How have I ever managed that?"

I shrug. I'm not sure of the answer myself. I hate this nagging feeling that I'm going against myself by allowing this closeness between us. So I decide to change the subject.

"You said you liked your teachers," I say, finding a decent path of conversation, "What was your subject?"

"You mean besides the one I obviously majored in?

"Yeah," I say with a smirk, "Besides that one."

"Reading and writing," she answers with a laugh. "Would you believe I loved reading so much that my parents used to have to ground me from books and put restrictions on my school library cards?"

"Really?" Odd. "That's love if I ever heard it."

"Just think, I'm not the only person with little surprises like this," she says. Nice try, Ms. Psychotherapist. I see that subtle hint you put in there. "Did you have a subject you were partial to in school?"

"Maths."

"I will admit, maths was not my strongest subject."

"A lot of people say that."

"I wished it was easier. I would love to understand the math behind the science."

"Behind the science of what?"

"Various things," she says with a shrug, which leads her to explain her obsession with the forth detention and black holes. Even though she couldn't understand the technicalities and math involved."

Uh. Waste of time. "Not exactly relevant," I say with a shrug, "But to each his own.

"That's something I'd say."

"Is it?"

"Just ask Raven. Or you could take my word for it. Whichever suits you more."

"I'll take your word."

"Thank you, James," she says with a smile. You know, I'm kinda getting used to the whole James thing. But only from her.

"About that day in school," I say hesitantly, "It wasn't like it was that deep. I just- I was angry. I didn't like getting laughed at and beaten. And it was so easy." What just possessed me to say that?

"Do you remember what he was laughing about?" she asks softly.

I just shrug. I shouldn't have brought it up but for some reason I'm just comfortable. And I haven't said it all outloud ever. Not once. It's almost like I'm saying it to hear myself talk rather than telling her.

"Anyways," I continue while remembering. I'm so focused on my thoughts, I start to forget that she's there. "I was clever. So one day he decided he wanted me to do the schoolwork of all his friends in exchange for my well being." I actually smile a little.

"I see." Her simple response is just enough to remind me that she is there.

"So I did," I say with a shrug, "But then of course they weren't the right answers. I decided to be smart and leave a code for the teacher in their answers. After that I had a sure enemy."

"What was the code?"

"Oh, just a basic cipher."

"I meant," she clarifies, "What did the code say when deciphered?"

"Oh I believe it said Carl eats poop. I was a kid," I add somewhat defensively.

"At least you didn't allow them to cheat."

"Yeah I suppose I did that." I didn't care if they cheated or not. I wanted to get back at them.

"Anyway, go on."

"Some unpleasant things happened after that," I continue, "So I decided to do something about it."

"What sort of bad things happened?" Is that important?

"I decided to take it to my grave." As I have many things.

"I thought you said it wasn't deep."

I won't give her more then a shrug.

"It seems like it really bothered you though. If you're not ready to say, that's find. I'm not going to force you to put trust in me."

"Alright then," I say with a tone of finality.

After some silence, she speaks up. "My brother Xander left pretty suddenly when I was about nine." She sounds solemn but she already told me that.

"Why?"

"It was several things," she says hesitantly. She recounts to me the troubles her brother went through. Apparently no one satisfied his intellect -something I identify with. Then she explains that once he found those worth spending his time with, they pulled him away from the family.

It's quite a long story and I have to figure out a way to end it. "Sorry," I say finally.

"Nothing you could've done about it." Duh. "But during the few times I've talked to him since, I realized he didn't understand simple emotions. When I told him I loved him, he would ask why. Why did I love him?" Seems like a perfectly good question to me. "And it didn't matter how I tried to explain it. He just didn't get it." I might like to meet this Xander. Maybe I can add him to the pocket full of clients I stole from Cameron's office.

"Is that why you said what you did?" I ask.

She pauses for a long time. "I guess it is." She just stars at the ground. "Xander was brilliant." Her voice sounded full of tainted admiration as she told me tales of what he'd accomplished. "I wanted to be just like him."

"You must have been pretty close."

"Yeah, we were. He really looked out for me when I was little."

"I suppose it's always good to have someone like that."

She smiles nicely. Nicely? Since when do I find a smile nice? Never.

"Yeah," she says. And in that moment I realize there is more behind her story than met the eye.

"What are you trying to say?" I ask, not accusing but really, really wanting to know, like now.

"You mean someone like you."

Someone like me? Someone like me to what? protect her? Why would I do that? I don't care what- well I mean I don't- do I care?

So in that case I decide to dispense with my own inner confusion and continue the conversation by agreeing. "I wasn't thinking that but sure, why not?"

Cameron looks immensely pleased. Well at least someone here seems to know what they're doing. "What about you?" she asks, "All I know is that you have an older sibling."

"Well my family wasn't too crazy. We ran more like business partners than a family."

"How do you mean?"

"Other families are weird," say with a shrug, "We just did what we were supposed to do."

"So," she says with contemplation, "Leave it to beaver type family or?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then how would you explain it?"

"We went to school, got good grades, did our chores, and kept quiet."

She looks surprised. "No wonder you were bored."

"We made our own fun."

When she asks me what exactly we did for fun, I told her about how my brother and I tended to analyse things, and people. Try to put together an entire biography from a single piece of information.

"And my mom thought I was crazy."

"What?" What does she mean by that? Calling me crazy?

"Ever notice how even so-called plain and flat walls have texture?"

"Yes."

"Mom had the hardest time trying to discipline me when I was really little. I would make pictures on the wall to keep me busy while in the corner."

I smile. If anyone was hard to discipline... "I never did will with discipline. I drove every single adult absolutely mad. Still do."

She laughs. "I've always gotten on better with adults. Even better now that I've passes my rebellious years." Rebellious? You? Never. "Although my approach to psychology isn't exactly typical and likely frustrated my teachers.

"Why? What is your approach?"

"You don't remember? I told you at lunch."

Cue mental rewind. "You get in people's heads."

"Mmhm."

"Are you in mine?"

"Not yet," she says with a smile. Good. I would like to think I'm not that easy.

"Good. The fun isn't over with."

"Why? Do you have some sort of plan in mind.?"

"Well if I do I'd certainly want to surprise you."

"You'd be surprised the power anticipation has, where you kinda know without really knowing," she says with a grin.

"I think I can imagine.

"Well I prefer anticipation to complete surprise." Well then she is crazy.

"Ah, I see. Well then. I owe you."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Why is that?"

"Because I do believe I'm going to surprise you."

"Now that is no surprise," she teases.

"Ha-ha." Sarcasm. Which is met with giggles from Cameron.

We've gone quite far, and admittedly I've lost track of time. I can see Cameron has done the same.

"We should probably start heading back," she says.

"Probably. Tired yet?" I ask while turning back.

"Not yet," she answers, "I might be when I get home though."

"Well then, I'd better get you home." I can't believe this wasn't painful. I actually enjoyed myself and the way she talks I just- I like the way she talks. I like listening to her. If there's one thing I know for sure, her words will be my favourite to remember.

She turns to me when we reach her apartment. "Thank you for walking with me, James."

"Thank you for inviting me."

"You weren't bored on the multi-hour walk?"

"Maybe just a little," I say, smiling.

"Sounds promising," she says with a grin.

"See you later." And I will.

"Yeah," she says hesitantly. Like she doesn't want to leave. "Good night, James."

"Good night."

It's true, there is so much to do. My plate is full. But this right now, this time with Cameron, is enough to make me forget it. I know it goes against every logical rule I've ever lived by but I can't wait until our next meeting.

* * *

 **Cameron: Ready for More**

My head is swimming in happy thoughts. I can't even begin to think of sleep; there is no way I am going to get any in tonight. He was _so open_ this time.

"Hey, you were gone a while," Ray says, interrupting my thoughts.

"Went for a walk," I say.

"Right. Spill it."

"Well I did!" I say defensively. "And I happened to see Jim all by himself and invited him on the walk -sort of." I succumb to my giggles, which throws Raven into laughter.

"Snatched him up did you?"

"Had a nice long walk. We both completely lost track off the time until we realized it was getting dark." And that has to be the best part yet. He doesn't seem the type to lose track of time, and yet he did while we talked.

"Aw, that's so sweet," she teases.

"And to think, he only *might* have been bored during the walk!" She just laughs and shakes her head at me. Clearly, she doesn't know James. "Hey, it takes a lot to please that man," I joke. Which is met with more laughter.

I'm just happy. And I cannot wait for our next date. "Oh," I say. "What do you have going on tomorrow evening?" I head to the kitchen to get me something to eat.

"Um...I don't think I have anything Why?"

I smile. "I was considering inviting him over for dinner with us, if it's okay with you."

"Sure, of course it is."

I grin. "Thanks, girl." She just made my already great day even better.

I take my late night dinner over to the computer to do some research. There is this one thing that keeps nagging at me. Who is Mycroft? I would rather he told me. But he seems to like it when I find things out on my own.

Here, it says Mycroft Holmes has an important, small position in the government. 'Mycroft's feeling guilty'...police in his flat...I have to talk to James. Mycroft clearly knows he is still alive.


	6. Chapter 6: Kisses Are Red, Goodbyes A

James: **Invitation in the Park**

* * *

"What are you talking about? Just do it," I say before hanging up the phone. I've been dealing with this mess all day. Why do I always have to rely on idiots to get a job done? I would do it myself but, of course, there's only one of me. Just as I'm about to put my phone away, it buzzes with a text.

 _Park your car 30 times per minute_

It's Cameron. It takes me next to no time to read it. Park 30 minutes. Pleased, I head to the park. I wonder howgo.t will go this time when we talk. I couldn't get her out of my head last night. Maybe I'm a little extra crabby with my business partners. So what? I have other things on my mind.

"Hey," I say when I see her waiting on a bench.

"Hello, James. Care to join me for a walk?"

"Sure," I respond hesitantly. Another walk? I can't imagine why.

"I hope you don't mind," she starts after a we begin our walk, "But I took the liberty of finding out who Mycroft is." Ah.

"Why would I mind?" That would be Mycroft's issue, not mine.

"It's always is possibility if you refer to him as nobody."

I just smirk. He is nobody.

"I found that Mycroft is involved with the government. And it makes sense with what you've told me already." She sounds solemn. Why?

"Why does it make sense?"

"Police at the flat. 'Mycroft is feeling guilty'." She stops walking and looks at me seriously. "James, why are you wanting to come back from the dead?"

"I have my reasons." Sherlock is my reason. I said I would kill him. I can't just abandon that promise, can I? Nope. Not even a girlfr- stop.

"James, I'm not playing," she says, apparently very comfortable with the whole James thing. "If Mycroft is feeling guilty and sent police to your flat, then clearly he already knows you're not dead. Or at least he suspects you're alive. If he's after you while you're supposed to be dead, what is going to happen when you come back? Will it really be worth coming back?" She's practically pleading with me. "I need to know."

"Yes," I say after a long stretch of serious silence. It's been my only worthwhile goal. It was meant to be from the beginning, when he first tried to solve the 'accidental' death of Carl Powers. He was the only kid I ever met who was close to my level. Of course, he wasn't quite there. But It's the only excitement I have.

When she realizes I'm serious, she looks down at the ground. "When?" she asks.

"Soon," I answer, "I haven't decided yet."

"Will it mean going back to London?" she asks after a hard swallow.

"Most likely." She

looks like she's about to cry. I mean, I like her and all, but still it's only been a week. I can't really be worth crying over. But still, it would be nice to make her feel a little better. "T

hat doesn't mean I couldn't come back."

Cameron looks up with hope in her eyes. "Do you promise?"

"Yes."

"And you promise to say goodbye when you go?"

"Promise," I confirm with a nod. I always keep my promises. Although I don't know why saying goodbye all the time seems so important to her. I look at her with a smile because despite my leaving, I still enjoy my time with her. I lean over and whisper in her ear with a smile, "But I'm not leaving yet."

"Good because you're coming over for dinner at 7."

"I will?"

"Well you better."

"Alright, I will."

"Good. See you at seven." With that, she's off and I watch the clock.

* * *

 **Cameron: Dinner Date**

I skip off to get everything ready at home. And as I go about setting everything up, I can't help but think over what happened earlier. I was worried he would just take off to London and that would be it. I thought there would be no way to see him again; I don't exactly have a passport to come visit him. But he said he'd come back. For me. Promising. He even promised to say goodbye before he takes off to London. I put some of the food in the oven and begin on the dessert. The heat from the oven reminds me how he whispered reassurance in my ear. _'But I'm not leaving yet.'_ It makes a smile come to my face each time it crosses my mind.

There's a knock at the door. I glance at the clock: 7pm, sharp. I smile and open the door, releasing the wonderful smell of my casserole. "Come on in," I say to the wonderful dark haired man I call James. "Hey, Ray, Jim is here."

"Hi, Jim," Raven calls from the other room.

I roll my eyes at her. "No idea what she's doing now," I say to James. "Dinner's almost ready, so make yourself at home." I finish setting the table.

"Smells good," he says. I just smile and go to pull my casserole out of the oven and throw in the dessert.

"I'll see what's keeping raven." I politely excuse myself and knock on Ray's door.

"Just a minute," she says. After a couple more seconds, she finally opens the door.

"Food's ready." I lead her back to the dining room so I can eat with my two favorite people.

Ray nods to James, he nods back. Why does this feel so awkward? I decide to break the silence. "Alright, who's first?"

"Ladies first," James says.

"I'll do it," Ray say, wanting to serve us.

Not happening. "I cooked, I serve." I give a smirk. "I want to know how you guys like it." So I serve Ray, then James, as he had suggested.

Ray takes one bite and says, "Oh, don't do it, Jim it's horrible."

"Oh, Raven." I roll my eyes with a clear undertone of get over yourself. I finally get my own portion and add my typical amount of salt, a lot, while Ray laughs about it. James smiles, seeming to enjoy the banter.

"So how's being dead?" Ray asks. I shoot Ray a look. I just about want to crawl under my seat. Why did I have to be so skeptical and open about James at first?

He hesitates, somewhat taken by surprise. "It's great, you should try it sometime." I can tell he's trying to brush it off somehow.

Ray gives me a subtle shrug and James is focused on the food. Now the awkward is back. Thanks a lot, Ray.

"Does it taste ok?" I ask James in attempt to rid ourselves of the awkward.

"Oh yes. It's very good," he says with seeming adamance.

I smile, glad my tactic seemed to have worked. "My mom used to make this all the time."

"Family recipe?"

"Kinda, yeah. My mom based the idea off of green bean casserole."

"She cooked a lot?"

"Yeah. Which is funny cuz she never did like it." I smirk at the memory.

"So do you like it?" He asks. "Or do you follow your mother's footsteps?"

I shrug. "It's ok. I mean, I have my specialties that I will cook. But it's not a hobby, per se."

"What are your specialties?"

"Chili. First and foremost, chili," I chuckle. He just smiles. " Now, Mija here can _cook._ "

"What are you talking about?" Raven asks. She doesn't like me calling her mija because it means daughter. I do it to mess with her.

"All those great enchiladas y quesadillas you make." Then to James, I add, "Her specialty is anything español. And cookies." I chuckle.

"Is that right?" he asks.

Raven shakes her head like this is the worst thing. "I'm not that great at it," she says.

"Too bad, I like cookies," he says to mess with her. Of course, I laugh.

"That's alright," I say. "Cookies aren't on the dessert menu tonight anyways. I've got something else in mind for that."

"Oh?" he asks.

I grin and simply say, "Anticipation." I can tell my answer pleases him. "Now I know you can make biscuits. What else are you fond of cooking?"

He chuckles. "Nothing fancy. Whatever recipes I can remember."

I smile. "I see," I say. "One of those with great memories." So it's better than just intelligence. He has the memory, too.

He shrugs modestly. "So long as I remember to forget things when people ask me questions."

"Good thing I'm not people," I say.

We both laugh a little over my remark. After a couple moments of silence, I decide to ask a slightly daring question. "What do you do when I'm not there?"

"what do you mean?" He asks, confused.

"Like, I'm at work all day. What do you do while I'm at work?"

"I count the minutes until I see you again," he says in a smooth voice that I don't ever want to forget.

Raven 'coughs', managing to say 'flirt' somewhere in between. Which earns her a hard kick under the table.

"Seriously, though," returning my attention to James. "What do you do?" But even as I ask this question, I get this distinct feeling that James doesn't want to say. At least, not in front of my detective friend.

"I keep my children in line," comes his cryptic reply. Which I laugh at, but I know what he means: His criminal contacts.

I stand up to move dinner along, seeing everyone's plates are more or less empty. "Ready for dessert?"

"Now we're talking," Ray says adamantly. "Yes."

I shake my head at her and bring out the peach cobbler. "This is another recipe my mom taught me. And this one _is_ a family recipe."

"Ah, lovely," he says with a smile.

"If you want, we can have it a la mode."

"That's alright, Thanks."

I smile. "Did you ever get your flat back?"

"Uh, well I doubt it would be wise to return there so I'm staying somewhere else."

Oh, right. Duh. I nod. But I look at him, wanting to ask where he's staying, but I'm not sure if I should even ask in Raven's presence.

As if on cue, the phone rings and Raven goes off to answer it. I waste no time. "Where are you staying?" I ask in a low voice, not wanting Ray to hear.

After a moment of hesitation, he answers. "410 Lyon Avenue."

I nod, making it a point to store this information. Remembering Raven's tasteless question earlier, I say, "I'm sorry about earlier." I look down at my lap. "I was still unduly suspicious when I mentioned it." Which is really weird, considering he is a criminal.

"It's alright," he says, dismissing it. Yeah, but still.

"Sorry Cam," Ray says, walking past us. "I gotta go. Nice seeing you Jim."

"Bye, Ray." With Raven gone, I feel like I can breath again. "Well then," I say, "This has been quite an interesting evening." I give a slightly nervous chuckle. So glad the awkward is gone now.

"Quite," James says with a smile. "So how long have you been working here?"

"Um," I think back on it. "Wow. It's been two years already." I can't believe it.

"No kidding?"

"Yeah. Time goes by _way_ too fast." I shake my head in disbelief.

"I've been here two years," he says with a smirk. "It was meant to be."

Wait, what? "No way." I can't believe how much we have in common. "So let's see," I say, listing it all off for me to wrap my brain around this. "You're like my brother, we've both been here two years, like poetry and riddles, have few friends -if any, both cook -though neither of us finding particular pleasure in it, and both quick learners. Am I missing anything?" I mean, that is quite a lot. What were the chances of me finding someone with so many commonalities?

"Yes you are," he says.

I grin. "Refresh my memory." After all, the more in common, the better. What was it that I missed?

He puts his phone on the table and it starts playing some music. He stands up and says, "We both like to dance." He holds his hand out as an invitation.

I can't help but smile bright. "Yes we do," I say, accepting his invitation. The electricity in his hands still make me breathless- he's only ever touched me one other time, after all. But I really do not care. This moment of dancing with him is exhilarating. And he leads exactly as I imagined he would have when I wrote the poem. With a strong arm, great authority, very sure and confident steps. He makes it easy for me to follow smoothly.

As the song comes to an end, I can't help but think nothing can possibly make this moment better. Instead of sitting to talk or moving into a next song- there was none -he simply stood still, not breaking the dance form we have. We share an unspoken moment with our eyes.

It is at this moment I swear my heart completely stops. My breathing stops. The entire world stops. Even time is standing still for this one moment that I know I will never, ever forget as he comes closer to me and our lips meet. And I am completely lost in our first kiss- my very. First. Kiss.

He gently pulls away and we just lock eyes as I try to wrap my brain around this, around the truth, that there is no more guessing. He feels the same about me as I do for James. I can almost swear for this moment, we are one and the same.

A knocking abruptly interrupts this moment. "Um." It takes me a moment to even register what it means. Oh, the door. I have to answer it. I open it part way, wanting whoever it is to leave so I can get back to our delightful evening in peace. "Hello?"

A tallish, sophisticated looking man stands at my door, leaning on an umbrella. "Hello," the man says. "I'm looking for a miss Cameron Allen."

I draw my brows. Who is he? Why does he want me? "Speaking," I cautiously say.

"Good evening." He flashes some badge. "Mind if I come in?"

"Forgive me, but I don't know who you are." One thing about being with a detective, you learn a lot. A badge only does so much in the law. "I don't make it a practice to let strangers into my home," I explain. I'm still respectful because, heaven knows, we need the law.

"Of course, where are my manners? My name is Holmes. Mycroft." Oh.

I use my profession to my advantage to shield the my recognition. I give him a single, respectful nod. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Holmes. May I ask, why it is you wish to come into my apartment?" Not that it matters. He doesn't have a warrant. And I make it a point to keep the door only partway open.

"Because we have reason to believe there's a killer in the neighborhood. and I'm personally making sure everyone is safe."

I just look at him like he's crazy. "What makes you think there would be a killer in my own home? There is only one door and I assure you no one besides my roommate was here when I got back from work, and no one else has entered unless I have personally let them in." All of which is very true.

"Then who were you kissing?"

I can't hide my incredulous look. What does it matter to him? "My boyfriend, obviously." Who else did you think I would be kissing? Then I add, "I didn't know my personal affairs were matters of the government. Nor did I know it's the government's practice to be peeping in people's windows."

"Don't worry," Mycroft says. "No one is peeping in your windows. Have a good evening." I stare at him briefly as he walks away. Then how on earth would he have known about the kiss?

I just shut the door and call Raven. I'm sure James has left by now in attempt to avoid detection.

"Hello?" Raven answers.

"Will you stop by somewhere and pick up a new phone for me?" I ask.

"Uh, ok." I can tell she's picking up that something just happened. "Something going on?"

"No," I lie.

"Ok. See you later," she says.

I just hang up with a heavy sigh. I turn around. This evening was so perf- James is still here. Words cannot express how grateful I am to not have let Mycroft into the flat.

* * *

 **James: Plans for Non-Departure**

Mycroft. The ever-present termite in my castle. When Cameron turns around, I can tell she is worried. And so she should.

"You shouldn't be here anymore," she says with a sort of soft seriousness.

"Yeah." I know.

"You've known for a while now," she realizes, stating it as a question.

I nod in response.

"Then this is goodbye?" she asks hesitantly.

"No. Of course not." Since when do I let Mycroft tell me what to do?

"When?"

"Tomorrow." I'm sure of myself.

"Where?" she asks, obviously worried she will lose track of me.

"Don't worry, I'll find you," I reassure her. "Don't let strangers in tonight," I joke lightly before leaving.

Especially since she seems to do a horrific job of misleading people. She practically handed Mycroft his information on a silver platter. She probably couldn't convince her grandmother she wasn't in the cookie jar.

As I leave the building, I think about how she reacted. She shouldn't be so afraid. How could I possibly let this - this new puzzle slip away from me? But the fact that she's actually worried about losing me feels good for some reason. She actually chose to defend me, despite knowing my past is less than what most people would consider honorable. Whenever there is a general rule in regards to human behavior that I have come to know, half the time she seems to counteract it. I feel like I'm lost in something new. At first I hated it but now I realize that this is exactly what I have been looking for: something unknown.

I know Mycroft will come for her, that much is sure. He can't help sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. There is too much at stake for both of us, he can't resist. But if he talks to her, he'll no doubt try and convince her to leave, give up on me, or turn me in. From what I've learned about Cameron, I know she isn't the kind of girl who would betray me. But I know it will upset her.

Making plans for my departure, I keep on thinking about what I should do about the situation. I certainly can't leave without a word. I promised not to. If we meet conspicuously, Mycroft will be there in a heartbeat -if only to rub it in my face. I need something more interesting. I know Mycroft will come for me If I see her again. But the more I think about it, the more appealing it becomes. Dear Mr. Holmes may have done me a favor. Maybe I can play a few more games before I go


	7. Chapter 7: Games

**Cameron: The Inconsideration**

I keep staring at the flowers on my desk in effort to remain calm and to remember James' promises. He said he would see me today, he would say goodbye before he goes. I just really, really hate the timing. Just when I finally get James to open up and find out that he has mutual affection for me, he has to go.

"Dr. Allen," Nancy says, coming into my office. "Someone is here to see you."

James? "Send them in."

"Hello, Miss Allen," Mycroft says, walking into my office. Why did it have to be him, again?

But I remain strictly professional. "Mr. Holmes, what brings you to my office today?"

"A request. I would like you to come with me. I have a few questions."

"I'm sure you will find you can ask whatever manner of question you would like here in my office. I am not due for my lunch break yet and I'm sure you can understand I cannot abandon my clients with the risk of losing my licence."

"I understand your position," he says. "But you see, I have a court order."

"I was not aware I was involved in a court procedure. May I see the court order?"

He actually hands me a document, confirming it is so. He leaves me with no choice. "Nancy, find someone to cover for me," I say. "This is a bit of an emergency, I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"Is everything ok?" she asks.

"I hope so." I do my best to remain calm as I go with Mycroft. He leads me to a large, grey building, built to intimidate. He takes me to a room lined with mirrors- one way windows, no doubt. I do my best to keep calm. I know this room is designed to instill fear and doubt.

"Comfortable?" Mycroft asks.

"Adequate."

"Good. Do you know why you are here?"

 _Yes._ "Sir, you have yet to explain it to me."

"You know a man named James Moriarty?" he asks, wasting no time.

"What about him?"

"I need to know what he's up to."

"Why do you think I would know?"

"Don't pretend you don't know who I am."

Where did that come from? "Sir, all I know is you interrupted my evening last night and pulled me away from my clients today."

"Don't insult me, it won't serve you." What? I don't insult people of authority.

"Mr Holmes, I was not intending to insult you," I say calmly.

"Nonetheless." Is that his way of saying it doesn't matter what I say? "Now. Do you understand the gravity of this situation miss Allen?"

 _Apparently not._ "How can I understand if you do not explain it to me?"

"James Moriarty is a criminal contractor. He's been known to have organized both intricate and heinous crimes." Contractor? That's new.

"I can assure you I have not known anyone in my two years in Lille to commit a serious crime of these sorts. Not even my clients."

Now he hands me a folder. What? "You know, I was under the impression that the purpose of questioning is to find out what a person already knows, not to put false memories into their minds." I hope I'm not pushing too far.

"Don't pretend to understand what it is I do."

"Regardless what is in here, do you really believe anyone would tell me they committed serious crimes or what any of those crimes were prior to my acquaintance with them?" What little I know is from my own personal research. James has kept me in the dark.

"I don't need you to know about those things. That's for your own benefit. All I need to know is what he's up to. The entirety of Europe could be at risk right now."

Maybe it's a good thing James doesn't tell me these things. "Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Holmes. I do not know any of that man's plans."

"I believe you," Mycroft says with an arrogant smirk. I'm really not liking him right now. "Although the way your pupils dilate every time his name is mentioned tells me it's worth a bit more of my time."

Oh, are you serious? Ugh, the one part of psychology I hated. The anatomical aspects of psychology. Why didn't I pay more attention and learn how to control it better? But I don't react. I think.

"So," he continues. "I understand you're a psychotherapist. How interesting. Do you always gravitate towards psychopaths?"

"That would be a large assumption for you to make," I respond.

"It was a snide comment, don't be so serious." Oh, excuse me.

"I take my profession and my dignity seriously," I say calmly. Time to wrap this up. "And if the one thing you needed to know has been answered already and you have found reason to believe me, then I would appreciate it if you would let me return to my clients."

"Sorry, not just yet. Soon though. Hope you don't mind waiting a few minutes while I check on something." Why do I have this very distinct feeling this is going to be more than a few minutes?

As the time crawls by, I have to resist my very strong desire to check my phone. It occurs to me, I missed my lunch. Oh, great, what about Angela? The poor girl has severe depression, convinced no one cares about her! I hope Nancy found someone to fill in; I don't want her to think not even someone paid to hear her out believes she isn't worth it. That would only make things worse for her.

And what about James? How long will he look for me, if at all, before he goes to London? I hope the promise he made me won't get him into trouble. I hope he leaves if I don't get back by a decent time.

...but I really wanted to say goodbye...

Cameron Allen, stop thinking about these bad thoughts. Think about Dyllan, that autistic kid this morning. He was so happy trying to sing some of his favorite songs. And what about Christina in her euphoric state? Everything to her was like rainbows and butterflies, she even had flowers in her hair today!

At long last, Mycroft finally returns. "Sorry about the delay," he says. Yeah right. "Oh, everything is in order. Last time I left someone in here, the room was destroyed." He says it almost like it's a surprise and he expected me to trash the room. Oh, please, give me some credit. "I only have one more request. Say hi to your boyfriend for me."

 _Oh, he did not_ just- Whatever. "I take it you'll be providing me the transport for my return."

"Of course." He makes no moves to lead me to a vehicle, so I just leave.

I can't believe Mycroft. He could have at least informed me ahead of time so I could take the necessary steps for work. Who knows how many people decided I can't be trusted anymore- all because Mycroft didn't have the decency to inform me ahead of time or to at least make an appointment.

I find myself out walking, actually looking for James in hopes Mycroft didn't ruin that, too. I head past 410 Lyon Avenue, but it isn't like I can just go up and knock. I can't even tell if he's there or not. I do my best to just walk past like it's the rest of the street. I'm positive Mycroft is stalking me somehow. He actually has managed to make me paranoid.

I hate Mycroft, simply because he's making it impossible for James to stay.

I reach the end of the street. I don't even know what I had expected to happen if he was here. And even if he was, it would have been a matter of timing and there is no way to know if he saw me walk by or not. This is so infuriating. I just pass the café, but I still can't act like I'm physically searching for him, so I don't even know if he was in there or not and it makes me want to cry. Not knowing what else to do, I just go to the park and sit on the bench. I don't even know how long I will sit here, waiting in futile hope.

"Sorry your afternoon was spoiled." I stand up and face the owner of the much longed for voice. I so badly want to give him a hug right now, but no. Not with Mycroft raising the stakes so high. I wish James could just stay. Or at least find someplace safe where can say goodbye.

"Don't worry," he says. "I left crumbs behind." He gives a little smile of assurance and then looks me in the eyes. "Go to the library." Then he walks off.

He has a place. He has a place. I repeat it over and over in my head. I figure I should wait a few minutes to throw Mycroft off if he is, indeed, stalking me.

At the library, I don't immediately see him, but that's ok. I know I can trust him. I go inside and I start browsing the books. It occurs to me that maybe he is in the poetry section or left a clue there. But I don't see him there. Nor can I seem to find anything that might point to him.

I think carefully on what he said earlier. 'Don't worry. I left crumbs behind. Go to the library.' I almost laugh at myself. Of course he would be in the fairytale section. I go over to it. He isn't there, but I know what to look for. Hansel and Gretel. As I suspected, it's missing. I smile at his little clue and grab the one on Cinderella.

* * *

 **James: Comfortable?**

She did it. She followed my crumbs. I knew she could. As she sits next to me, I feel a comfortable sensation. Like I'm completely at ease with her. I look over at her as she pretends to read.

"Took me long enough to figure it out," she says in a low voice.

"I was beginning to worry," I tease.

She leans on my shoulder. "I'll miss you." Um.

Why is she leaning her head on my shoulder? Is this some kind of cuddle? At least she seems comfortable. Actually it's- She sits up, awkwardly like she's offended me. But I kind of liked what she was doing. I glance at her and reach for her hand. Still feeling at ease with her.

She seems pleased with this. "I have that new number now. I'm Jean Heidi, thanks to Raven."

"Good," I say. "Mycroft is difficult."

"I noticed. It made me wish I paid more attention to the anatomy of psychology."

"He makes you pay attention to quite a lot of things. But it's a challenge and that's good," I tell her. I take a moment to think. "I've beaten him before. He won't be easily taken again."

"I never thought I'd say anything like this before, but I'm glad you kept me in the dark on your plans."

I give her a nod.

"When do you have to leave?"

"Tomorrow." As I have said before.

"I don't want you risking seeing me tomorrow."

"Why not?" It won't matter though. I know Mycroft is coming.

"Because I want to be sure you make it there safe. Mycroft knows you're attached to me." Yeah, I am, actually. "He thought maybe you'd spill it to me or that I would spill. He's not just chasing you; he's following me now."

"I know."

"We've been together nearly everyday since we've met. He'll expect you to say goodbye to me the day you leave. Especially since he saw the way my 'eyes dilated' each time he mentioned your name." She rolls her eyes in disgust. But of course I smile.

"What?"

"Nothing," I say, still with a smile.

"Oh come on. You won't tell me?"

"Say it."

She looks lost. Then hesitantly says it. "James moriarty."

I smile. "He's right." Her eyes do dilate, which clearly embarrasses her. "Cameron Allen," I say back to her. She looks delighted.

"You know," she says, "You don't use my name nearly enough, James." With that, she leans close to my ear and whispers her new phone number, which I am very pleased by. "I don't suppose there is much time left we can safely stay here together."

"No," I say, "but we have until tomorrow." Maybe. "And I've got lots of tricks." I stand and turn to her, expecting her to follow. And she does. We reach the rear exit -emergency exit, and walk straight through. I cut off the circuit to the alarm, of course. Then I lead her to a cab waiting outside- an empty cab. I step into the driver's seat and she gets in the back like an ordinary passenger. She catches on quickly.

As I drive, I can't stop looking in the mirror at her. She is so different from what I thought she would be. She even continued to search me out -albeit against her better judgement- after learning mycroft saw her as an accomplice. I cannot seem to keep away from her, risk or no risk.

 _Cameron Allen._

I wonder why she said I don't use her name enough. I look at her eyes, trying to see past them. She looks up and I quickly look away.

We arrive at a small place just outside of town. After parking, I turn to the rear view mirror. "No charge, Miss,"

She laughs. "Thank you sir, but I'm sure I'll pay you somehow."

When she gets out, I pull away from the curb and park the cab elsewhere. By the time I return, Cameron has already gotten us a table inside.

"I must admit," she says when I reach the table, "I've never known anyone who drives a cab for a living before."

There's no way I could live on a cab driver's income. It's comical. Nevertheless, I smile. "Someone has to do it."

She chuckles. Then hesitates. "You know, Mycroft made me really appreciate something about you."

"What's that?"

"That you're a man of your word. Mycroft is not." Thank you. "It's rather ironic, considering he's supposed to be the law and the law is after you." Her mobile rings and she answers it. I sip on my glass of water while she talks on the phone.

"It's ok, Raven. The case is under control." What case? "Yeah. I don't know when you'll get the case results." She hangs up and looks to me in exasperation. "Why do I feel so paranoid with technology now?"

Ah, I get it. She was talking in code. "Well it's not totally unfounded."

"I know. It's still annoying."

Our conversation becomes quiet as we sit at the table. "I want you to promise me something," she says, breaking the silence.

"What's that?"

"That somehow you'll let me know you've made it to London okay."

I hesitate. It's risky to contact her while in London. But I have to. I can't leave her to her own worries -as she tends to. I nod. Maybe I can convince Jonathan to set something up.

"Because I don't care how you tell me or through which of your 'children' you choose to go through. As long as you're okay."

I give her a smile. "Alright."

I can see her mood becoming low as she thinks of my leaving. But she won't feel bad for long, it'll be fun, as usual, no matter what happens. It's just my specialty. "I should probably get going now."

"We both should," she says with a reluctant nod.

I walk with her outside and she holds my hand on the way out. When we stand outside, she hugs me. I'm not sure how I am supposed to respond to that. Actually, I'm never sure how to respond to hugs -not that I receive many of them.

Before she releases me from the hug, a familiar loathsome, condescending voice falls on my ears.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow."

* * *

 **Cameron: Audacity**

I knew I should have made James go. I knew I shouldn't have followed him out of the library. Why didn't I listen to that nagging voice inside me? I don't even bother hiding my anger. I just glare at Mycroft.

"Oh, don't look so cross, Miss Allen," Mycroft says condescendingly. I don't even bother answering. I know my look says it all.

"He won't make a move," says James with confidence. "Not now."

"You seem very sure of yourself," Mycroft says.

"As always."

"You can't win everything, Jim. Every once in awhile, someone's going to have a wild card."

"Oh, yes," I butt in with thick sarcasm. "Mycroft, his indecencies and wildcards."

"Suppose he's tired of losing, isn't that right, Mike?" James asks, surprisingly casual despite this situation. It's just enough for me to control my anger. "What is it this time then?" Mycroft gestures and two people walk up to James and arrests him. James rolls his eyes. "I don't have time for this."

"You'll have to tell me all about it," says Mycroft.

"For a man representing the law," I say, voice level, "you're a fairly cruel man."

"I try."

"It takes an awful lot to anger me. You must be something special. Do you always make enemies this easily?"

"Only when I'm in an exceptionally good mood," he says, which only irritates me further.

A car pulls up and Mycroft tells James to get in. I watch James in hopes of some clue or sign of what I can do. But I tell Mycroft his problem, "You smart folks are all alike. You get so caught up in your own intelligence that you forget to connect with the human part of you, the other humans on this earth, and the humans your lives."

"Human connection is a waste of time," he answers. Yeah, right. "Hope you said your goodbyes already."

"Oh, I'm not worried," James tells Mycroft. "There are always two wild cards in a deck." He smirks and gives me a wink. Then they drive off. I can't help but smile at James. I can't help but hate Mycroft. I just sigh.

What is James so confident of? I know he means I'm the wild card, but what am I supposed to do? I just start walking; it's going to be a long one home.

I take a detour to his spot on Lyon Avenue and actually walk in. I make sure to close the door behind me. I don't even know what I'm here looking for, but I search carefully for it anyways and try to think like James would.

I notice a beautiful persian grey cat that is trying to figure me out. I can't help but smile at it. "Hello, kitty." I pick the cat up. "Do you know what I'm supposed to figure out here?" I pet it and my eyes fall on James' plane ticket to London. The cat just meows at me.

There's some maps of Europe with pins, arrows, and writing on them, torn in half. I bring the pieces together so I can have a better idea of what he wrote and what exactly the arrows are pointing to. The arrows point to various cities, all with dates. It's almost as if he was tracing someone. I wonder who. I look at the larger, scribbled notes.

'sherlock'

'angels'

'stupid'

'boring'

'poetry in death'

Well, there's Sherlock again. I draw my brows in concentration. I look again at the dates on the map. The dates are all within the past two years. Are these supposed to be Sherlock's whereabouts? Did Sherlock also fake his suicide?

"Now isn't this quite interesting?" I ask idly to the cat. "Do you know if James is wanting me to find this Sherlock? How would that help him to get un-arrested?" I continue to mindlessly pet the cat. I can't find Sherlock on my own. "Would he be alright if I asked Raven to help? But I really don't want her dealing with Mycroft."

I snap a picture of the map on my phone. I go grab some of the cat food and stick it in a bag. "I think you're coming with me, little kitty." I make sure to lock the door behind me and then go home.

Raven meets me at the door and gives me a strange look when she sees the cat. "Hey, I'm looking after James cat for a little while," I explain. "And I need your help to figure something out."

"Okay," she says, unsure of what to make of this.

I put James' cat and cat food down to pull my phone out. I show her the picture of the map. "This man, Sherlock, isn't dead."

"Okay..."

"I need you to help me find him."

"Sure, glad to help." Then cautiously she adds, "Am I allowed to ask what this has to do with anything?"

"If you're wondering, I'm about as much in the dark as you are. All I know is I'm supposed to find him somehow and that I can't do it on my own."

"Alright." She goes over to the computer and starts researching. "So I take it Jim's gone?"

I think about it. "Yes," I say. Because, in a way, he is. I should look up where is phone is located. I'll do that later. I see the cat on the keyboard. I pick it up. "Now I know the keyboard is made of warm, but so am I," I tell it, putting it on my lap.

After a few minutes, Ray asks, "So how do you know this guy isn't dead?"

"The dates and places on the map do not coincide with the date of death." I get back up to hand her the phone. "Look at the dates again."

She does look at it carefully. I see her researching the dates and places. I go back to playing with my boyfriend's cat.

"Huh," I hear Ray say idly.

"What?"

"Well in each of these places on the map, there are reports of these crimes being solved and criminals exposed by a mystery man."

I smirk at James' brilliance. "Then Jim would be right. Sherlock is out there somewhere."

"What are we supposed to do about it?" She asks. "Why do we have to do anything about it really?"

Um. How am I supposed to explain this one? I don't even really know. Wait a second, James said he was keeping his children in line. "Who all were exposed? Are they still detained?"

"Not all of them."

I look at the dates again. Questions start flooding my mind. "How could he have solved all of these in such close timing and yet they are so far from each other? You said the reports say a mystery man? How could they not know who solved them? What sort of crimes were actually revealed?"

"Smuggling, sabotage, organized crime stuff."

"So how did Sherlock solve these so quickly? How did he turn them in?" I think on it briefly. "Call me obsessed, but maybe he did with just computers and phones and emails, etcetera?"

"maybe," she says. "I don't know him, so I can't say I know how he solves stuff."

"Think you can trace how some of these people were turned in?"

"Yep." She gets to work on it. "What's the cat's name?"

That was unexpected. "You know, I don't know," I chuckle. "Never had the chance to ask."

"He asked you to take care of his cat and didn't tell you his name?"

"He had to leave a little sooner than anticipated. He was a bit rushed." Fact.

"Ah." She doesn't seem entirely convinced. "Okay, I think I got all the information i'm gonna find."

"What do you have?"

"He was feeding information to different front men who would take the credit."

"So, if he's feeding the information then can you trace where is coming from?"

"I can try." She starts her tracing and a after a while she finds it. "There."

I glance at the computer and am surprised. "From Russia? Huh. Well now we have a place to start."

"Start what?" She asks. "Are we trying to contact this guy?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I told you I'm about as much in the dark about this as you are." I get this sudden feeling James would want her butted out now, that Ray has served her purpose. Oh, James. What do you expect me to do now?

"If you're in the dark, how can you be expected to do anything?" Ray asks. "You give this guy refuge, you keep his cat, and he tells you to look up some dude who's not dead while he leaves the country?"

Okay, so she raises some valid questions, but I have no clue how I can even begin to explain it. "Long story," I say. "And, unfortunately, I'm racing against a clock. May I see your computer for a minute?"

Ray sighs. "Go ahead."

"Thanks." I track James' phone and find that it is in the same building that Mycroft took me to earlier today. I clear my history, for multiple reasons, I take a deep breath. I really don't want to deal with Mycroft again, but I can see no other way. I don't know what else I am to do.

I open a can of cat food for the cat and grab an apple. Then I take off to that government building to find James.

When I arrive, I ask the cab to wait. It's getting close to midnight. I take another deep breath and go in.

"Yes?" a man behind the desk asks.

"Hello, I believe my boyfriend was brought here tonight. I came as soon I could," I say.

The man kinda hesitates."I see. And his name is?"

"Jim Moriarty."

He presses a button on his phone and then unlocks the door for me. "Second door on the right."

"Thank you so much." I go in and hesitantly knock on the said door.

The door opens and lo and behold, it's Mycroft. I force myself to maintain composure. "I came to see Jim."

"Oh, and I thought you came to see me," Mycroft says, opening the door wider for me. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. "Come in." I walk into his office as beckoned. "What did you hope to accomplish by coming here, Miss Allen? Post bail?"

What? Who does he take me for, a criminal? "He's my boyfriend; What do you think I came here for?"

He gives an arrogant smirk. "Well i am sorry, you won't be able to see him just yet."

"And exactly when will I be able to see him?"

Mycroft looks at his watch. "Friday."

I just look at him. That's, what. 3 days from now? "You're crazy."

"Why's that?"

"Are you seriously trying to tell me you're denying him the right to speak to anyone upon arrest and prior to accusations?"

"Yes." He looks at me with scrutiny. "Though I do understand you feel such a strong sense of loyalty because of your fear of abandonment ever since you were disowned by your mother's family."

 _He did not._ I stand up and slap Mycroft across the face, hard. "Don't." That was one line he should not have crossed. "You don't know my life." I am spitting fire. He has no right. I know my deadly glare is daring him to go on and try.

He just looks at me blankly as though it was completely expected. _Yeah, right, expected my foot._ "I believe we're finished here," he says with a false calm. "You can find your way out."

 _Over my dead body._ "If you deny me his visit then I expect you to give me his personal belongings." That is a demand. "When he gets out, feel free to tell him who has them."

"Very well," he says. He opens a drawer and I see James' personal contents: wallet, phone, and a pack of gum.

I just grab them and storm out the door. As it's closing, I spit out the words, "Hope your _brother's_ ok." I finally get back into the cab, absolutely steaming.

* * *

 **James: Interrogation**

I stare at the wall as I hear Mycroft open the door and shut it behind him.

"You're girlfriend is a feisty one," he says. "Too bad she's a traitor."

Is he seriously trying that trick? Does he think I'm stupid or something? I give him no response whatsoever. Not a trace of expression on my face.

"She told me everything she knows. Which you know that, for me, is just enough." Right. She knows nothing and she told you nothing. Preferably, I would have liked it if you told her where to put your arrogance.

"Why are you so obsessed with my brother?" he continues asking pointlessly. Which, again, is met with no reaction.

After a while I stop paying attention altogether.

"Don't play that game again," he says with irritation. "It won't work this time."

This brings an involuntary smile to my face. But still, I say nothing.

"I know what you're trying to do."

I wonder what Cameron is up to.

"Just answer a few simple questions and you can go on back to your little apartment."

I never really had a plan in mind. But I know she'll find something of mine and put it together. She's smart enough.

"Hello, Jimmy?"

My lips purse in disdain for that little name.

"You know, I could go after your girlfriend."

He has no grounds to do that. Even his authority only goes so far.

I can see he's growing more exasperated. Wow, this room is bland. Maybe when Mycroft's gone I'll have it decorated.

"Fine. Stay here if it suits you. I'll be ready for your confession in the morning."

Whatever.

Mycroft leaves again, replaced by yet another agent. Or at least an employee. Not that it matters. They all have the IQ of a squirrel.

* * *

 **AUTHOR NOTES:**

Hi! It's been a long time since we left an author note to our dear readers. But we are still very interested in hearing what you think of BTM (yes, the official short name for our fanfiction). We still want to know what it is you love and what you hate. We want to know what you want to see happen and what you think had better not ever happen.

Example: I (M) really wanted Cameron to slap Mycroft. Cameron is not the slapping type of girl, so she would have to be practically violated in someway. It wasn't exactly a plan. But it worked and fuels BTM perfectly.

So tell us what you want! If it doesn't show up in the official BTM story, it just might show up in a spin off...*hint* *hint*


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